cJj'^aS' 


LIBRARY    OF   THK 


University  of  California. 


CIRCUI.ATliXG    BRANCH. 
Eeturn  in  \msi  week^  j  or  a  week  before  the  end  of  the  tenn. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/americancommonscOOgoldrich 


THE 


AMERICAN 


COMMON-SCHOOL  READER 


AND 


SPEAKER: 


BEING    A 


SELECTION  OF  PIECES  IN  PROSE  AND  VERSE, 


WITH 


u^ 


BRARY    OF    THK 


University  of  California. 


[ RCULA  TIJSji 


Eeturri  In  two  weeks  |  or  a  week  before  the  end  of  the  term. 


c»i. 


NINTH  THOUSAND.     IMPKOVED  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
■^IFOS^^^   AND   WHITTEMORB, 

114  Washinqtoii*  Strkkt. 


POPULAR  SCHOOL  BOOKS 

PUBLISHED  BT 

TAPPAN,  WHITTEMORE  &  MASON, 

114   WASHINGTON   STREET,   BOSTON. 


NEW   READING   BOOKS, 

NOW  USED  IN  MORE  THAN  FIVE  HUNDRED  TOWNS. 

THE   SERIES   CONSISTS   OF 

1.  RUSSELL'S  PRIMER. 

r  RUSSELL'S  READING  AND  SPELLING  BOOK. 

3.  INTRODUCTION  TO  RUSSELL'S  PRIMARY  READER, 

4.  RUSSELL'S  PRIMARY  READER. 

5.  RUSSELL'S  SEQUEL  TO  THE  PRIMARY  READER. 

6.  RUSSELL  AND    GOLDSBURY'S  INTRODUCTION   TO 

THE    AMERICAN    COMMON    SCHOOL    READER 
AND  SPEAKER. 

7.  RUSSELL  AND  GOLDSBURY'S  AMERICAN    COMMON 

SCHOOL  READER  AND  SPEAKER. 

PUTNAM  S  ARITHMETIC. 

The  American  Common  School  Arithmetic  ;  in  which 
the  principles  of  the  Science  are  fully  explained,  and  ap- 
plied to  the  Solution  of  a  great  variety  of  Practical  Exam- 
ples—  Designed  for  the  use  of  Common  Schools  and 
Academies.  By  RuFUS  Putnam,  Principal  of  the  Bow- 
ditch  (Enghsh  High)  School,  Salem,  Mass. 

Two  Editions  are  published  of  this  Arithmetic,  one  with 
a  Key,  containing  answers,  and  the  other  without. 


COPIER'S  BOOK-KEEPING. 

A  Simple  Method  of  Keeping  Books  by  Double  Entry,  without  the 
trouble  or  formula  of  the  Journal.  By  G.  N.  Comer,  Accountant.  Fifth 
Edition. 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1844, 

By  JOHN  GOLDSBURY, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetti. 


G:(oZ 


HIVT^H 


31  Tr 


!^FORi£y 


TO 

JOHN    QUINCY   ADAMS. 

IS, 

WITH    HIS    PERMISSION, 

ftSSPBCTFUI.LT 
DEDICATED. 


^>i£  '^^ 


CONTENTS 


PRBPACR PaOB      9 

Part  i.  Rules  of  Elocution.— Analysis 

of  tho  Voice 13 

Quality  of  the  Voice.— Roundness.  .  14 

Smoothness 15 

Versatility 17 

True  Pitch 18 

Due  Loudness 19 

'  Moderate '   Force,   '  Declamatory ' 
Force,  *  Empassioned '  Force.  .       .  20 

Distinct  Articulation 21 

Correct  Pronunciation 22 

True  Time 23 

Exercises  on  Time 24 

Appropriate  Pauses 25 

Rules  for  Rhetorical  Pauses.  .       ^     .  26 
Right  Errphasis. — Ruleflon  Emphasis.     2S 

Correct  Inflections 30 

Rules  on  the  Rising  Inflection.  .       .      32 
"        "      Falling  Inflection.      .       .  34 


both  Inflections  In  connexloa. 
Rule  on  the  Circumflex  or  Wave.  . 
"  *'         Monotone. 

"  "         Harmonic  Inflections. 

"  "         Repeated  Words.  . 

Exercises  on  the  Rising  Inflection.  . 
"      Falling  Inflection. 
"    both  Inflections  in  connexion.  51 
JustStress,— Radical  Stress.       .       .       .M 
Explosion, —  Expulsion, — Median 

Stress, — EflTusion 55 

Suppression, — Vanishing  Stress.      •     56 

Compound  Stress 56 

Thorough  Stress, — Intermitted  Stress, 

or  Tremor 57 

Expressive  Tones 58 

Key  to  the  Notation  of  Expressivo 

Tone 59 

Rules  on  Expressive  Tone.     .       .       .60 
Appropriate  Modulation.        .       .       •     72 


Part  II.  Pieces  for  Practice  in  Reading  and  Declamation 75 

Less.  1.  Paul's  defence  before  Featus  and  Agrippa 75 

2.  Cultivation  of  the  Mind S.  Rbbd.     76 

3.  Physical  Eilucation Dr.  Humphrey.    78 

4.  Self-Edu.:ation. D.  A.  Whitb.     79 

5.  True  Eloquence Daniel  Wbbster.    81 

6.  Industry  mdispensable  to  the  Orator H.  Ware,  Jr.    82 

7.  Genius Orvillb  Dewey.    83 

8.  Antiquity  of  Freedom.      . W.  C.  Bryant.    85 

9.  Sunrise  on  the  Hills H.  W.  Longfellow.    86 

10.  The  Christian  Character E.  Cooper.    87 

11.  Advantages  of  a  Popular  Gorernment Dr.  Sharp.    89 

12.  Reverence  for  Law J.  Hopkinson.    90 

13.  Birthplace  of  American  Liberty Professor  Stuart.    92 

14.  Character  of  Washington ,  W.  Smyth.*    93 

15.  Impressions  from  History G.  C.  Verplanck.    94 

16.  The  Genius  of  Death G.  Croly.    96 

17.  The  Deep J.  G.  C.  Brainard.    97 

18.  Parallel  between  Pope  and  Dryden.        ......       Johiison.    93 

19.  The  Puritans MacauLay.  100 

20.  Poetry.  Channino.  103 

21.  Causes  of  War.         .        • H.  Binney.  105 

22.  Foundation  of  National  Character E.Everett.  105 

23.  Success  of  the  Gospel Prbsident  Wayland.  107 

24.  Power  of  the  Soul R.  H.  Dana,  Sen.  103 

25.  Hymn  of  Nature W.  B.  O.  Peabody.  110 

26.  Universal  Decay Greenwood.  Ill 

27.  Eternity  of  Gud Id.  113 

28.  Two  Centuries  from  the  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims.     .       .       .        Crafts.  115 

29.  The  Upright  Lawyer S.  Greenleaf.  116 

30.  Character  of  the  present  Age E.  Everett.  1 1 7 

31.  The  Founders  of  Boston.        ......      President  Quincy.  119 

32.  Human  Culture S.  J.  May.  120 

3.3.  Grecian  and  Roman  Eloquence J.  Q.  Adams.  123 

3-1.  Thanatopsis W.  C.  Bryant.   123 

35.  Trust  in  God Wordsworth.  125 

36.  Memory W.  G.  Clark.  127 

•The  names  of  American  authon,  are  distinyuished  by  imall  Capitals ;  those  of  Foreign  aulbon  tf 
B7  this  arrangement,  the  necessitj  of  a  separate  list  of  writers,  is  obviated. 


TJ  CONTENTS. 

Lbbsoic.  t  «8. 

37.  Old  Ironaidea.  .  O.  W.  Holmes.  128 

3a  Thai  Silcut  Moon.       . G.  W.  DoAnB.  129 

30.  Kvcniiig  on  ihe  Si.  Lawrence Prop.  8iiximan.  130 

40.  America  in  Knpland W.  Aixston.  131 

41.  The  American  Kigle C.  W.  Tho.m.so.n.  K« 

42.  The  Ladi  Evt-uing  before  Eternity.  .       •       •       •       .       J.  A.  Hiu.house.  135 

43.  Cliaracier  of  Jc8U8 •       •       •       .      S.  C.  Thacher.  13C 

44.  Woman Miss  C.  K.  Bebchbk.  138 

45.  The  Treadmill  Song O.  W.  Holmes.  140 

46.  D.trkucss.       .  Jii/ron.  141 

47.  Gnd DtrzhxiTin.  113 

A6    N'iagara Mns.  Sioournuy.  146 

4y.  The  United  Slates G.  Bancroft.  147 

5a  Wouler  Van  Twiller Wa«hxngton  Irvkno.  149 

51.  Invocation  of  IMIrih.        ..••....         .        .    Milton.  151 

52.  IVlarco  Bozzaria F.  G.  Halleck.  152 

53.  Waterloo • Byron.  154 

54.  Pruaaian  Baltic  Hymn.        .       •       • Korne.r.  156 

65.  Bernardo  del  Carpio Mrs.  Iltmans.   15^3 

66.  William  Kieft Washington  Irving.   lt»0 

67    Palmyra Willia.m  Ware.   161 

68.  Beauties  of  Nat  tire Samuel  G.  Howe.  162 

59.  An  Interesiine  Adventure.      .....       William  J.  Snellino.  163 

60.  Thoughts  on  Politeness Geo.  S.  Hillakd.  166 

61.  Same  Subject  concluded Id.  167 

62.  Cotiajje  on  the  Swiss  Alps Buck  minster.  168 

63.  Peter  Sluyvesant Washi.ngton  Irving.  169 

64.  Ode  on  Art Cuakles  Spuaoue.  171 

65.  Robert  Burns F.  G.  Halleck.  172 

66.  The  Future  Life .       .        W.  C.  Bryant.  174 

67.  The  Spirit  of  Poetry H.  W.  1a)NQfeixow.  175 

ftS.  The  Soldier's  Widow N.  P.  Wiu.is.  176 

69.  The  Sicilian  Vespers.        .       .......  J.  G.  W^hittier.  177 

70.  Mexican  IMythoiogy Wm.  H.  Prescott.  178 

71.  The  true  Greatness  of  our  Country.      ....            W.  H.  Seward.  180 

72.  Zenobia'a  Ambition William  Wars.  181 

73.  Trials  of  the  Poat  and  the  Scholar Geo.  S.  Hillard.  183 

74.  The  Yankees Samuel  Kettel.  184 

75.  Custom  of  Whitewashing Francis  Hopkinson.  185 

76.  Same  Subject  continued. Id.  187 

77.  Same  Subject  concluded Id.  188 

78.  The  Force  of  Curiosity Charles  Sprague.  191 

79.  The  Winds W.  C.  Bryant.  193 

80.  Daybreak Richard  H.  Dana,  Sen.  194 

81.  TheLi^htof  Home.j Mrs.  S.  J.  Hale.  196 

82.  A  Psalm  of  Life. H.  W.  I>onofellow.  197 

83.  To  the  Condor E.  F.  Ellet.  193 

84.  A  Child  carried  away  by  an  Eagle Profeaaor  WiUon.  199 

85.  Same  Subject  concluded •       .                        Id.  201 

86.  Scene  at  the  Dedication  of  a  Heathen  Temple.      .       .       William  Ware.  204 

87.  Same  Subject  continued Id.  205 

88.  Same  Subject  concluded •                   Id.  206 

89.  Hamilton  and  Jay Dr.  Hawks.  207 

90.  Adams  and  JefTerson Daniel  Webster.  209 

91.  The  Destiny  of  our  liepublic G.  S.  Hillard.  211 

92.  Posthumous  Influence  of  the  Wise  and  Good.      .       .  Andrews  Norton.  212 

93.  Look  Aloft. J.  Lawrence.  Jh.  213 

^.  Ode  on  War Wm.  H.  Burleigh.  214 

95.  The  Last  Days  of  Autumn Henry  Pickering.  215 

96.  Man. N.  Y.  Evening  Post.  216 

VI.  Passage  down  the  Ohio James  K.  Paitldino.  217 

98.  Spirit  of  Beauty .       .    Rufus  Dawes.  218 

99.  Rlucatlon  of  Females .       Joseph  Story.  219 

100.  The  Voices  of  ih«  Deail ,       Orvillb  Dbwey.  221 

101.  The  Jewish  Revelation Dr.  Noyes.  221 

102.  Incitements  to  Americm  Intellect G.  S.  Hillard.  222 

100.  Imiwrtance  of  Knowledge  to  the  Mechanic.      .       .       .      G.  B.  Emrrson.  224 
104.  Macer  preaching  on  the  steps  of  the  Capitol  at  Rome.       Wiixiam  Warb   226 

1(>5.  Death  u  sublime  and  univenal  Moralist Jared  Sparks.  228 

*06   Uefunn  in  MoraU.  I>r  Beboubr.  <<2S 


CONTENTS.  rii 

Lassoit.  Paob. 

107.  The  Child  of  the  Tomb. Wm.  B.  Tappan.  230 

108.  Love  and  Fame.        .       .       .• H.  T.  Tuckbkman.  232 

109.  Lanieritation  of  Kebecca  the  Jewess G.  Lunt.  2;>I 

110.  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago Gre.wille  Mellbn.  2.35 

111.  The  Stage Chakles  Spixagub.  237 

112.  The  Burial-place  at  Laurel  Hill.  .       .       .       ,       .       .        W.  G.  Cuajik.  23S 

113.  The  Good  Wife George  W.  Buunap.  239 

114.  A  Good  Daughter J.  G.  Palfrey.  240 

115.  Religion '.he  Guardian  of  the  Soul Orvili.e  Dewey.  241 

116.  Feature'?  of  American  Scenery Wm.  Tudor.  2'12 

117.  Study  of  Human  Nature  essential  to  a  Teacher.   .       .        G.  B.  Emerson.  243 

118.  Education Dr.  Humphrey.  245 

119.  Progres.s  of  Science Edward  Everett.  2-16 

120.  Purpose  of  the  Bunker-Hill  Monument Daniel  Webster.  247 

i2l.  The  American  Flag J.  R.  Drake.  243 

122.  Greece  in  1820 J.  G.  Brooks.  2,00 

123.  The  Wild  Boy Charles  West  Thomson.  262 

124.  The  Cure  of  Melancholy Carlos  Wilcox.  253 

125.  My  Native  Village. John  H.  Bryant.  2.54 

126.  The  Presa Joseph  T.  Buckingham.  255 

127.  Mount  Auburn .        Nkhbmiah  Adams.  25ti 

128.  Trying  to  Please Edward  T.  Channino.  257 

129.  Defence  of  Cliarles  Green) eaf. G.  S.  Hillard.  258 

130.  Tlie  Genius  of  Ari.stophane3 ,C.  C.  Felton.  259 

131.  Responsibility  of  Americans.      .      •       ....       E.  S.  Gannett.  261 

132.  The  MockingBird Alexander  Wilson.  262 

133.  The  Euro[>ean  and  the  American  Nations.      .       .       .  Daniel  Webster.  263 

134.  The  Times,  the  Manners,  and  the  Men J.  R.  Lowell.  265 

135.  Liberty  to  Athens James  G.  Percival.  266 

136.  The  Arsenal  at  Springfield H.  W.  Longfellow.  267 

137.  Immortality Richard  H.  Dana,  Sen.  263 

138.  The  Gray  Old  Man  of  tiie  Mountain Harry  Hibbard.  270 

139.  The  Novel  Reader Charles  Sprague.  271 

140.  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire .  Isaac  Hill.  271 

141.  Local  Associations HarR'SON  Gray  Otis.  274 

142.  Character  of  Julius  Caesar Knowlea.  275 

143.  A  Republican  School-Room A.  B.  MazzEY.  279 

144.  The  English  Skylark Samuel  H.  Stearns.  280 

145.  The  Dream  of  Clarence.  Shakspeare.  282 

146.  New  England  Freedom  and  Enterprise Josiah  Quincy.  2S4 

147.  Freedom  and  Progress Charles  G.  Atherton.  285 

148.  Scene  from  Marino  Faliero Byron.  287 

149.  The  Rich  Man's  Son,  and  the  Poor  Man's  Son.   .       .       .    J.  R.  Lowell.  290 

150.  New  England's  Dead Isaac  M'Lellan,  Jr.  291 

151.  The  Graves  of  the  Patriots.     • J.  G.  Percival.  293 

152.  Truth./ H,  W.  Longfellow.  294 

1.53.  The  First  Settlers  in  New  Hampshire N.  A.  Haven.  295 

154.  Scrooge  and  Marley Charles  Dickens.  298 

155.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  New  England Rufus  Ciioate.  300 

156.  The  Settlers  of  Connecticut Chan.  Kent.  302 

157.  Benefits  of  Collesiate  Education John  Sergeant.  30.3 

158.  Our  Control  over  our  Physical  Well-being.      .       .       .      Horace  Mann.  306 

159.  Scene  from  Henry  IV.  Sliakspeare.  307 

160.  Extract  from  an  Address  delivered  at  Chapel  Hill.        .  William  Gaston.  31 1 

161.  The  Lyre Milton  Ward.  312 

162.  Polish  War  Song James  G.  Percival.  314 

163.  Belshazzar G.  Croiy.  314 

164.  Elijah'H  Interview Thomas  Ciimr  hell.  315 

165  Dame  Nature's  Charms Wm.  C.  I^jge.  316 

166  xNight  in  Eden Mrs.  E.  H.  Evans.  318 

167  The  Present  Age Daniel  Webster.  319 

163.  Melancholy  Fate  of  the  Indians. Joseph  Story.  320 

169.  Edmund  Burke A.  H.  Everett.  3*22 

170.  National  Self  Respect .      Bbman.  323 

17!.  Internal  Improvement J.  C.  Calhoun.  325 

172.  Founders  of  our  Government Wm.  M.  Richardson.  326 

173.  Conduct  of  the  Opposition Henry  Clay.  327 

174.  God  the  Creator. Fenelon.  323 

175.  Crescenlius. ....       Mi»s  Landon.  329 

176.  Address  to  the  Ocean Barry  Oornwall.  330 


viii 


CONTENTS. 


LCBSOIV. 

177. 

17a 

179. 

ISO. 

ISl. 

l&L 

183. 

1&4. 

185. 

186. 

187. 

188. 

189. 

190. 

lUl. 

192. 

193. 

I^. 

195. 

196. 

197. 

198. 

199. 

2()0. 

201. 

202. 

203. 

201. 

205. 

206. 

2rj7. 

203. 

209. 

210. 

211. 

212. 

213. 

214. 

215. 

216. 

217. 

218. 

219. 

220. 

221. 

222 

223 

224. 

225. 

226. 

227. 

228. 

229. 

230. 

231. 

232. 

S33. 


The  Ursa  Major.      .      •      • 

The  Faie  of" Tyranny.        • 

The  Downfall  of  PoianA 

NajMileoi!  ai  Kesi.        .       .       • 

Najwleon  Bonaparte. 

The  Tluuider  Storm.  ,       .       • 

Classical  Learning. 

The  Bunker-Hill  Monument.   . 

Appeal  in  Favor  of  the  Union. 

France  and  England.  .       .       . 

Appeal  for  Ireland.  .     . 

Loss  of  National  Character.     . 

Lafayette  and  Najwieon. 

The  Vision  of  Liberty.      .       . 

Shakspeare 

Sjieech  of  Kienzi  to  the  Romana. 

Same  Subject 

G  U.Slav U3  Vasa  to  the  Swedes. 
A  Field  of  Battle.    .       .       . 
Resistance  to  Oppression.        • 
Duties  of  American  Citizens.      , 


Fags. 

Hknry  "Ware,  Jr.  331 

.  Mason.  335 

Thomas  Campbell .  333 

.  JoH.N  Pier  PONT.  339 

Channino.  3-10 

Washinoton  Irvi.ng.  342 

Joseph  Story.  313 

,     Daniel  Webster.  345 

,    James  Madison.  346 

John  C.  Calhoun.  348 

.  Henry  Clay.  350 

President  Maxcy.  351 

.     .     .  E.  Everett.  352 

Henry  Ware,  Jr.  354 

Charles  Spragub.  356 

Miss  Mitford.  357 

Thomas  Moore.  359 

.  Brooke.  360 

.      Shelley.  361 

Patrick  Henry.  3G2 

.     Levi  Woodbury.  364 

36C 


Political  Corruption Geo.  M'Duffib. 

Intelligence  necessary  to  jjerpetuate  Independence.      .       .  Judge  Dawes.  367 
South  American  Hepublics.     ......       Daniel  Webster.  36.9 

Excellence  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.   . Beattie.  370 

Speech  of  Mr.  Griffin  against  Cheetham.     ...»       ...       .370 

Sir  Anthony  Absolute  and  Captain  Absolute Sheridan.  372 

Antony's  Address  to  the  Roman  Populace Shakspeare.  375 

The  Victor  Angels Milton.  377 

Impressment  of  American  Seamen Henry  Clay.  378 

"  New  England,  what  is  she  ?  " Tristam  Burges.  379 

Party  Spirit William  Gaston.  381 

Restless  Spirit  of  Man Wilbur  Fisk.  383 

Rectitude  of  Character William  Wirt.  385 

Washington Daniel  Webster.  386 

Public  Faith Fisher  Ames.  388 

Free  Institutions  favorable  to  Literature.      .       .       .    Edward  Everett.  390 
The  Study  of  Elocution  necessary  for  a  Preacher.  .       .       .    Prof.  Park.  391 

Relief  of  Revolutionary  Officers Martin  Van  Buren.  393 

Rapacity  and  Barbarity  of  a  British  Soldiery.        •       .  Wm.  Livingston.  394 
Free  Navigation  of  the  Missidsippi.       .       ,       .     God^'erneur  Morris.  395 

Our  Duties  to  our  Country Daniel  Webster.  397 

England  and  the  United  States E.  Everett.  399 

Miissachusetts  and  New  York Gov.  Seward.  402 

The  Bible »       .      .       .      Thos.  S.  Grimkb.  404 

Fate  of  Montezuma. Wm.  H.  Prescott.  405 

Scenery  about  Hassen  Cleaver  Hilla.     •       •      .       .       .  John  A.  Clark.  407 

The  Treasure  that  Waxeth  not  Old D.  Huntington.  409 

The  Young  Mariner's  Dream.         .       , Dimond.  410 

Gustavus  Vasii  and  Cristiern.      . Brooke.  All 

Tamerlane  and  Bajazet • Jiotce.  414 

An  Independent  Judiciary.  ...  .       •        James  A.  Bayakd.  417 

Memorials  of  Washington  and  Franklin.     ....       J.  Q.  Adams.  419 

Dialogue  from  Henry  IV .>       .       .      Shakspeare.  421 

Tije  Love  of  Truth ,       .       George  Putnam.  424 

p:nergy  ofthe  Will Thomas  C.  Upham.  425 

The  Scholar's  Mission.     • Gborob  Putnam.  427 


PREFACE. 

Tde  design  of  this  work  is,  lo  furnish  a  text-book  for  the  systematic 
teaching  of  reading  and  declamation.  Of  the  reading  books  already  in 
general  use,  some,  though  }X)ssessed  of  high  literary  merit,  aflbrd  no  aid 
to  instruction  in  elocution ;  while  others  offer  but  a  few  desultory  re- 
marks, and  disconnected  rules,  which  do  not  insure  either  an  adequate 
knowledge  of  principles,  or  a  regular  progress  in  the  art  of  reading. 

These  defects  in  existing  compilations,  are,  to  teachers  generally,  the 
grounds  of  just  objection  and  complaint ;  and  the  compilers  of  the  pres- 
ent work  have  been  repeatedly  solicited  to  prepare  a  volume  such  as  is 
now  offered.  Speaking  with  reference  to  a  work  of  this  nature,  the  late 
Rev.  Dr.  Porter,  of  Andover  Theological  Seminary,  in  his  *  Analysis  of 
Rhetorical  Delivery,'  says,  "  The  man  who  shall  prepare  a  schoolbook, 
containing  proper  lessons  for  the  management  of  the  voice,  will  prob- 
ably do  a  greater  service  to  the  interests  of  elocution,  than  has  yet  been 
done  by  the  most  elaborate  works  on  the  subject,  in  the  English  lan- 
guage." And,  in  a  note  appended  to  this  passage,  "  Since  this  remark 
was  made  in  my  pamphlet  on  Inflections,  several  small  works,  well 
adapted  to  the  purpose  above  mentioned,  have  been  published ;  and  one 
is  now  in  press,  entitled,  Lessons  in  Declamation,  by  Mr.  Russell,  of 
Boston,  concerning  the  utility  of  which,  high  expectations  are  justified 
oy  the  skill  of  the  author,  as  a  teacher  of  elocution."* 

To  some  persons,  the  'Rhetorical  Reader,^  founded  on  Dr.  Porter's 
*  Analysis,'  may  seem  to  occupy  the  ground  claimed  for  the  present  pub- 
lication. The  compilers  would  offer,  in  explanation,  not  merely  their 
own  impressions,  but  th"  express  objections  made  by  many  teachers, 
when  requesting  the  aid  of  a  book  more  exactly  adapted  to  the  wants 
felt  in  actual  instruction.  The  Rhetorical  Reader  contains,  it  is  admit 
ted,  many  excellent  suggestions  on  elocution,  and  many  pieces  of  emi- 
nent merit  as  to  their  matter.  But  the  marking  of  inflections,  in  partic- 
ular, contravenes,  in  many  parts  of  that  book,  the  rules  and  principles 

♦  The  publication  of  tlie  book  mentioned  above,  of  which  the  late  Dr.  Porter  had  jeen 
the  proofs  of  the  first  half  of  the  volume,  waa  unavoidably  suspended,  in  consequence  of 
a  change  of  business,  on  the  jKirt  of  the  publishers  who  had  undertaken  it.  Bui  tim 
■ubstanca  of  ihal  work  ia  embodied  iu  Part  I.  of  this  Reader. 


X  PREFACE. 

of  the  work  itself,  and  is  wholly  at  variance  with  appropriate  style  in 
reading.  The  pieces  are,  to  a  great  extent,  of  a  character  better  suited 
to  adults  and  professional  readers,  than  to  young  persons  at  school  j 
and  the  style  of  language,  in  some,  is  equally  negligent  and  incorrect. 

A  single  won.1  of  explanation,  perhaps,  is  due,  in  relation  to  the  ap- 
parent coincidence  of  plan  and  rule,  in  some  parts  of  the  present  work 
with  those  of  the  '  Rhetorical  Reader.*  The  '  Analysis,*  on  which  the 
<  Rhetorical  Reader,'  was  founded,  was  compiled,  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent, as  regards  rules  and  examples,  from  materials  handed,  for  that 
purpose,  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Porter,  by  one  of  the  editors  of  the  present  vol- 
ume ;  and  the  laiter's  mode  of  leaching,  as  an  elocutionist,  being,  of 
course,  modified  by  the  principles  embodied  m  these  materials,  a  man- 
ual of  instniction,  if  prepared  by  him,  must  necessarily  produce  a  par- 
tial resemblance  of  method  to  that  of  a  work  partly  constructed  on  the 
same  data. 

The  compilers  of  the  following  work,  have  drawn,  it  will  be  per- 
ceived, to  a  considerable  extent,  from  that  invaluable  source  of  instruc- 
tion in  elocution,  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice,  by  Dr.  James 
Rush,  of  Philadelphia.  The  clearness  of  exposition,  and  the  precision 
of  terms,  in  that  admirable  work,  have  greatly  facilitated,  as  well  as 
clearly  defined,  the  processes  of  practical  teaching,  in  whatever  regards 
the  discipline  of  the  organs  of  speech,  or  the  functions  of  the  voice,  in 
utterance  and  articulation,  in  emphasis,  inflection,  modulation,  and 
every  other  constituent  of  elocution. 

The  pieces  for  practice  in  reading  and  speaking,  which  form  the 
larger  portion  of  this  volume,  have  been  selected  with  great  care,  as  re- 
gards their  character,  not  only  in  relation  to  the  purposes  of  practice  in 
reading,  but  with  reference  to  the  influence  of.  a  high  standard  of 
excellence, — both  in  subject  and  style, — on  the  mind  and  taste  of 
young  readers.  Regard,  also,  has  constantly  been  paid  to  the  eflect 
which  the  pieces  seemed  adapted  to  produce,  as  favoring  the  cultivation 
of  elevated  sentiment,  and  of  practical  virtue. 

The  preparation  of  the  pieces  for  the  purpose  of  applying  the  rules  of 
elocution,  has  been  regulated  by  a  regard  to  the  importance  of  placing 
before  the  reader,  but  one  principle  or  rule  at  a  time,  of  presenting  i». 
clearly,  and  of  repeating  it  with  sufficient  frequency  to  fix  it  firmly  on 
the  micii.  The  marking  by  which  the  modifications  of  the  voice  are 
indicated,  is,  accordingly,  restricted,  principally,  to  one  subject  in  each ; 
so  as  to  avoid  confusion,  and  to  secure  a  full  and  lasting  impression  of 
each  rule  or  principle.  In  modulation  and  expression,  however,  where 
there  exists  a  natural  complexity  in  the  subject  itself,  the  marking  is,  of 
course,  more  intricate.    Still,  it  will  be  found,  we  trust,  clear  and  deii- 


PRFFACE.  XI 

nite.  The  suggestive  notation  has  been  limited  to  such  a  number  of 
pieces,  as  seemed  requisite  to  fix  the  prominent  principles  of  elocution 
permanently  in  the  memory.  But  most  of  the  lessons  have  been  left 
unmarked,  in  order  to  have  the  reader  exert  his  own  judgment  in  apply- 
ing the  rules,  with  the  aid,  when  necessary,  of  the  teacher. 

The  propriety  and  the  advantage  of  any  system  of  notation,  for  the 
purposes  of  study  in  elocution,  have  been,  by  some  writers,  considered 
doubtful.  On  this  subject.  Dr.  Porter  has  made  the  following  just  ob- 
servations : 

"  If  there  could  at  once  spring  up  m  our  country  a  supply  of  teachers, 
competent,  as  living  models,  to  regulate  the  tones  of  boys,  in  the  form- 
ing age, — nothing  more  would  be  needed.  But,  to  a  great  extent, 
these  teachers  are  to  be  themselves  formed.  And  to  produce  the  trans- 
formation which  the  case  demands,  some  attempt  seems  necessary  to  go 
10  the  root  of  the  evil,  by  incorporating  the  principles  of  spoken  lan- 
guage with  the  written.  Not  that  such  a  change  should  be  attempted 
with  regard  to  books  generally ;  but  in  books  of  elocution,  designed  for 
this  single  purpose,  visible  marks  may  be  employed,  sufficient  to  desig- 
nate the  chief  points  of  established  correspondence  between  sentiment 
and  voice.  These  principles  oeing  well  settled  in  the  mind  of  the  pupil, 
may  be  spontaneously  applied,  where  no  such  marks  are  used." 

Objections  are  made  by  some  authors, — whose  judgment  and  taste, 
on  other  subjects,  are  unquestionable, — not  only  to  any  system  of  no- 
tation indicating  the  modifications  of  voice  which  characterize  appropri- 
ate reading,  but  to  any  systematic  instruction  in  the  rules  and  principles 
of  elocution  themselves. 

Persons,  even,  who  admit  the  use  of  rules  on  other  subjects,  contend, 
that,  in  reading  and  speaking,  no  rules  are  necessary ;  that  a  correct 
ear  is  a  sufficient  guide,  and  the  only  safe  one.  If,  by  a  'correct  ear,'  be 
meant  aj  vague  exercise  of  feeling  ort)f  taste,  unfounded  on  a  principle, 
the  guidance  will  prove  to  be  that  of  conjecture,  fancy,  or  whim.  But 
if,  by  a  'correct  ear,^  be  meant  an  intuitive  exercise  of  judgment  or  of 
taste,  consciously  or  unconsciously  recognizing  a  principle,  then  is  there 
virtually  implied  a  latent  rule  ;  and  the  instructor's  express  office,  is,  to 
aid  his  pupil  m  detecting,  applying,  and  retaining  that  rule. 

Systematic  rules  are  not  arbitrary ;  they  are  founded  on  observation 
and  experience.  No  one  who  is  not  ignorant  of  their  meaning  and  ap 
plication,  will  object  to  them,  merely  because  they  are  systematic,  well 
defined,  and  easily  understood  :  every  reflective  student  of  any  art,  pre- 
fers systematic  knowledge  to  conjectural  judgment,  and  seizes  wiih 
avidity  on  a  principle,  because  he  knows  that  it  involves  those  ruica 
which  are  the  guides  of  practice. 


n  PREFACE. 

•When  a  skilful  teacher,"  says  Dr.  Porter,  "has  read  to  his  pupils  a 
sentence  for  their  imitation,  is  there  any  reason  why  he  should  have  read 
it  as  he  did  ? — or  why  he  or  they  should  read  it  again  in  the  same 
manner  ?  Can  that  reason  be  made  intelligible  ?  Doubtless  it  may,  if 
it  is  founded  on  any  stated  law.  The  pupils,  then,  need  not  rest  in  a 
servile  imitation  of  their  teacher's  manner,  but  are  entitled  to  ask  why 
his  emphasis,  or  inflection,  or  cadence,  was  so,  and  not  otherwise :  and 
then  they  may  be  able  to  transfer  the  same  principles  to  other  cd^es." 

"  Should  some  still  doubt  whether  any  theory  of  vocal  inflections  can 
DC  adopted,  which  will  not  be  perplexing,  and,  on  the  whole,  injurious, 
especially  to  the  young,  I  answer,  that  the  same  doubt  may  as  well  be 
extended  to  every  department  of  practical  knowledge.  To  think  of  the 
rules  of  syntax,  every  sentence  we  speak,  or  of  the  rules  of  orthogra- 
phy and  style,  every  time  we  take  up  our  pen  to  write,  would  indeed  be 
Derplexing.  The  remedy  prescribed  by  common  sense,  in  all  such  cases, 
is,  not  to  discard  correct  theories,  but  to  make  them  so  familiar  as  to 
govern  our  practice  spontaneously,  and  without  reflection." 

J.  O. 
W.R 


A.MERICAN  COMMON-SCHOOL  READER  AND 

SPEAKER. 


PART  I.— RULES  OF  ELOCUTION. 


ANALYSIS  OF  THE  VOICE. 

If  we  observe  attentively  the  voice  of  a  good  reader  or  speaker, 
we  shall  find  his  style  of  utterance  marked  by  the  fallowing  traits. 
His  voice  pleases  the  ear  by  its  very  sound.  It  is  wholly  free  from 
affected  suavity  ;  yet,  while  perfectly  natural,  it  is  round,  smooth,  and 
agreeable.  It  is  equally  free  from  Uie  faults  of  feebleness  and  of 
undue  loudness.  It  is  perfectly  distinct,  in  the  execution  of  every 
sound,  in  every  word.  It  is  free  from  errors  of  negligent  usage  and 
corrupted  style  in  pronunciation.  It  avoids  a  measured,  rhythmical 
chant,  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  broken,  irregular  movement,  on  the 
other.  It  renders  expression  clear,  by  an  attentive  observance  of 
appropriate  pauses,  and  gives  height  and  effect  to  sentiment,  by 
occasional  impressive  cessations  of  voice.  It  sheds  light  on  the  mean- 
ing of  sentences,  by  the  emphatic  force  which  it  gives  to  significant 
and  expressive  words.  It  avoids  the  "  scho^  "  tone  of  uniform  inflec- 
tions, and  varies  the  voice  upward  or  downward,  as  the  successive 
clauses  of  a  sentence  demand.  It«marks  the  character  of  every  emo- 
tion, by  its  peculiar  traits  of  tone ;  and  hence  its  effect  upon  the  ear, 
in  the  utterance  of  connected  sentences  and  paragraphs,  is  like  that 
tif  a  varied  melody,  in  music,  played  or  sung  with  ever-varying  feel- 
ing and  expression. 

^  The  analysis  of  the  voice,  for  the  purposes  of  instruction 
and  practice  in  reading  and  declamation,  m^  be  extended,  in 
detail,  to  the  following  points,  which  form  the  essential  ino-pcr- 
ties  of  good  styhy  iii  reading  and  speaking. 

1.  Good  *  Quality'  of  Voice;      6.  Appropriate  Pauses; 

2.  Due  *  Quantity',  or  Loud-      7.  Right  Emphasis  ; 

ness ;  8.  Correct  *  Inflections  *; 

n.  Distinct  Articulation  ;  9.  Just  *  Stress'; 

4.  Correct  Pronunciation ;  lO.*  Expressive  Tones*; 

5.  True  Time;  11.  Appropriate  ' Modulation', 

*  The  larger  t)rpe  distinguishes  those  portions  of  Part  I.  which  are 
most  important  to  the  learner,  and  which  should  be,  in  substance,  im 
weijsed  on  the  memory. 
2 


14  AMERICAN    COMMQN-SCHOOii     /i  [PART   1 


The  cliief  properties  of  Ti  good  voice  are, 

1.  Koundness,  3.  Versatility, 

2.  Smoothness,  4.  Right  Pitch. 

1.   Rmmdness, 

This  property  of  voice  is  exemplified  in  that  ringing  fulness 
of  tone,  which  belongs  to  the  utterance  of  animated  and  earnest 
feeling,  when  unobstructed  by  false  habit.  It  is  natural  and 
habitual,  in  childhood;  it  is  exhibited  in  all  good  singing,  and 
in  the  properly  cultivated  style  of  public  reading  and  speaking. 

To  obtain  roundness  and  fulness  of  voice,  it  is  exceedino^ly  impor- 
tant that  tlie  student  observe  the  following  suggestions.  ]3e  atteniive 
to  the  position  of  the  body.  No  person  can  produce  a  full,  well- 
formed  sound  of  the  voice,  in  a  lounging  or  stooping  posture.  The 
attitude  of  the  body  required  for  the  proper  use  of  the  voice  is  that 
of  being  perfectly  upright,  without  rigidness.  The  head  must  never 
be  permitted  to  droop  ;  it  should  be  held  'perfectly  erect.  The  Ijack 
must  be  kept  straight,  and  the  shoulders  pressed  backward  and  down- 
ward. The  chest  must  be  well  expanded,  raised,  and  projected  ;  so  as  , 
to  make  it  as  roomy  as  possible,  in  order  to  obtain  full  breath  and  full 
voice.  Breathe  freely  and  deeply  ;  T^eep  up  an  easy  fulness  of  breath, 
without  overdoing  the  capacity  of  your  lungs.  Make  your  utterance 
vigorous  and  full,  by  giving  free  play  to  the  muscles  situated  below 
the  bony  part  of  the  truiftv ;  these  should  move  energetically,  in  order 
to  drive  the  breath  upward  with  due  force,  and  thus  give  body  to 
the  sounds  of  the  voice.  Keep  th%  throat  freely  open,  by  free  open- 
ing of  the  mouth,  so  as  to  give  capaciousness  and  rotundity  to  every 
sound.     A  round  voice  can  never  proceed  from  a  half-shut  mouth. 

Tlie  large  and  full  effect  of  vocal  sound,  produced  by  the  due  ohserv-* 
ance  of  the  preceding  directions,  forms  what  Dr.  Rush,  the  great, 
authority  in  elocution,  terms  the  '  orotund'  (round,  or,  literally,  round- 
mouthed)  voice,  which  he  describes  as  the  ample  style  of  oratory,  or 
public  reading,  in  contrast  with  the  limited  utterance  of  private  con- 
versation. The  attitude  of  body,  and  the  position  and  action  of  the 
organs,  demanded  by  *  orotund'  utterance,  is  likewise  highly  favor- 
able to  health,  and  to  easy  use  of  the  voice;  while  stooping  and- 
lounging  postures,  a  sunken  chest,  and  drooping  head,  tend  both  to 
suppress  the  voice  and  injure  the  organs,  besides  impairing  the  health. 

Practice,  in  the  style  of  vehement  declamation,  is  the  best  means 
of  securing  a  round  and  full  tone.     The  following  exercise  should  be 
repeatedly  practised,  with  the  attention  closely  directed  to  the  man 
agement  of  the  organs,  in  the  manner  which  has  just  been  described, 
aa*  producing  the  'orotund',  or  resonant  quahty  of  voice. 


PART    l]  reader    and    SPEAKER.  16 

Exercise  on  the  '  Orotund  \ 

"  Who  is  the  man  that,  in  addition  to  the  disgraces  and 
mischiefs  of  the  war,  has  dared  to  authorize,  and  associate  to 
our  arms,  the  tomahawk  and  scalping  knife  of  the  savage  ? — 
to  call  into  civilized  alliance  the  wild  and  inhuman  inhabitant 
of  the  woods  ? — to  delegate  to  the  merciless  Indian,  the  de- 
fence of  disputed  rights,  and  to  wage  the  horrors  of  this 
barbarous  war,  against  our  brethren? — My  lords,  we  are 
called  upon  as  members  of  this  house,  as  men,  as  Christians, 
to  protest  against  such  horrible  barbarity  I — I  solemnly  call 
upon  your  lordships,  and  upon  every  order  of  men  in  the 
state,  to  stamp  upon  this  infamous,  procedure  the  indelible 
stigma  of  the  public  abhorrence  !  " 

2.   Svioothness  of  Voice,  or  ^ Purity^  of  Tone, 

Smoothness  of  voice,  in  reading  and  speaking,  is  the  same 
quality  which,  in  relation  to  vocal  music,  is  termed  *  purity' 
of  tone. 

This  property  of.  voice  consists  in  maintaining  an  undisturbed, 
liquid  stream  of  sound,  resembling,  to  the  ear,  the  effect  produced 
on  the  eye,  by  the  flow  of  a  clear  and  perfectly  transparent  stream 
of  water.  It  depends,  like  every  other  excellence  of  voice,  on  a 
free,  upright,  and  unembarrassed  attitude  of  the  body, — the  head 
erect,  the  chest  expanded.  It  implies  natural  and  tranquil  respi- 
ration, (breathing;) — full  and  deep  *  inspiration',  (inhaling,  or 
drawing  in  the  breath  ;)  and  gentle  '  expiration',  (giving  forth  the 
breath  ;)  a  true,  and  Arm,  but  moderate  exercise  of  the  *  larynx',  (or 
upper  part  of  the  throat ;)  and  a  careful  avoiding  of  every  motion 
^^at  produces  a  jarring,  harsh,  or  grating  sound. 

*  Pure'  tone  is  free  from,  I.  the  heavy  and  holiow  note  jof  the 
chest; — 2.  the  'guttural',  choked,  stifled,  or  hard  sound  of  the 
swollen  and  compressed  throat ; — 3.  the  hoarse,  husky,  '  harsh',  '  ree- 
dy', and  grating,  style,  which  comes  from  too  forcible  *  expiration', 
and  too  wide  opening  of  the  throat ; — 4.  the  nasal  twang,  which  is 
caused  by  forcing  the  breath  against  the  nasal  passage,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  partially  closing  it ; — 5.  the  wiry,  or  false  ring  of  the 
voice,  which  unites  the  guttural  and  the  nasal  tones; — 6.  the  af- 
fected, mincinp:  voice  of  the  mouth,  which  is  caused  by  not  allowing 
the  due  proportion  of  breath  to  escape  through  tlie  nose.  The  nat- 
ural, smooth,  and  pure  tone  of  the  voice,  as  exhibited  in  the  vivid 
utterance  natural  to  healthy  childhood,  to  ^ood  vocal  music,  or  to 
appropriate  public  speaking,  avoids  every  effect  arising  from  an  un- 
due preponderance,  or  excess,  in  the  action  of  the  muscles  of  the 
chest,  the  throat,  or  any  other  organ,  and,  at  the  same  time,  secures 
all  the  good  qualities  resulting  from  the  just  and  well-proportioned 
exercise  of  each      A   true  and  smooth  utterance,  derives  resonance 


16  AMEIUCAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    S 

from  the  chest,  firmness  from  the  throat,  and  clearness  from  the 
head  and  mouth. 

Without  these  qualities,  it  is  impossible  to  gWe  right  effect  to  the 
heauty  and  grandeur  of  noble  senthnents,  whether  expressed  in 
prose  or  in  verse. 

Childhood  and  youth  are  the  favorable  seasons  fo**  acquiring  and 
fixing,  in  permanent  possession,  the  good  qualities  of  agreeable  and 
effective  utterance.  The  teacher  cannot  exevt  too  muck  'vigilance , 
nor  the  pupil  take  too  much  pains,  to  avoid  the  encroach ir^nts  of 
faulty  habit,  in  this  important  requisite  to  a  good  elocution. 

The  subjoined  exercise  should  be  frequently  and  attentively  o^ae- 
tised,  with  a^  view  to  avoid  every  sound  which  mars  the  puiity  of 
tlie  tone,  or  hinders  a  perfect  smoothness  of  voice. 

Exercise  in  S}nooth?icss  a7id  ^ Purity^  of  Voice, 

"  No  sooner  had  the  Almighty  ceased,  but  all 
The  multitude  of  angels,  with  a  shout,. 
Loud  as  from  numbers  without  number,  sweet, 
As  from  blest  voices  uttermg  joy  ; — heaven  rung 
With  jubilee,  and  loud  hosannas  filled 
The  eternal  regions  ; — lowly  reverent, 
Towards  either  throne  they  bow ;  and  to  the  ground, 
With  solemn  adoration,  down  they  cast 
Their  crowns,  inwove  with  nmaranth  and  gold. — 
Then  crowned  again,  their  golden  harps  they  took,-   • 
Harps  ever  tuned, — that,  glittering  by  their  side. 
Like  quivers  hung,  and  with  preamble  sweet 
Of  charming  symphony,  they  introduce 
Their  sacred  song,  and  waken  raptures  high." 

Note.  The  various  passions  and  emotions  of  the  soul,  are,  to.f 
great  extent,  indicated  by  the  *  quality '  of  the  voice.     Thus,  the 
malignant  and  all  excessive  emotions,  as  anger ^  hatred^  revengeyfear, 
and  horror,  are  remarkable  for  '  guttural  quality',  and  strong  '  aspi- 
ration', or  *  expiration',  accompanying  the  vocal  sound,  and  forming 

*  impure '  tone;  substituting  a  'harsh',  husky,  aspirated  utterance, 
for  the  *  orotund',  or  the  'pure'  tone;  while  pathos,  serenity,  love, 
joy,  courage,  take  a  soft  and  smooth  '  oral',  or  head  tone,  perfectly 
pure,  or  swelling  into  'orotund'.  Aive,  solemnity,  reverence,  and 
melancholy,  take  a  deep,  '  pectoral '  murmur  ;  the  voice  resounding, 
as  it  were,  in  the  cavity  of  the  chest,  but  still  keeping  perfectly 

*  pure '  in  tone,  or  expanding  into  full  'orotund'. — -See  Section  on 
^Expressive  Tones.^ 

Young  persons  cannot  be  too  deeply  impressed  with  the  impor- 
tance of  cultivating,  early,  a  pure  and  smooth  utterance.     The  ex- 
sessively  deep  '  pectoral '  tone  sounds  hollow  and  sepulchral ;   the 
'guttural'  tone  is  coarse,  and  harsh,  and  grating  to  the  car;  the 
Dasal '  tone  is  ludicrous ;  and  the  combination  of  '  guttural '  ana 


PART    r.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  17 

*  nasal '  tone,  is  repulsive  and  extremely  disagreeable.  Some  speak- 
ers, through  excessive  negligence,  allow  themselves  to  combine  the 
'  pectoral',  *  guttural*,  and  '  nasal '  tones,  in  one  sound, — for  which 
the  word  grunt  is  the  only  approximate  designation  that  can  be 
found.  Affectation,  or  false  taste,  on  the  other  hand,  induces 
some  speakers  to  assume  an  extra  fine,  or  double-distilled,  '  oral ' 
tone,  which  minces  every  word  in  the  mouth,  as  if  the  breast  had 
no  part  to  perform  in  human  utterance. 

The  tones  of  serious,  serene,  cheerful,  and  kindly  feeling,  are 
nature's  genuine  standard  of  agreeable  voice,  as  is  evinced  in  the 
utterance  of  healthy  and  happy  childhood.  But  prevalent  neglect 
permits  these  to  be  lost  in  the  habitual  tones  of  boys  and  girls,  men 
and  women.  Faithful  teachers  may  be  of  much  service  to  young 
persons,  in  this  partic^TTar. 

3.   Versatility^  or  Pliancy  of  VoicCy 

Signifies  that  power  of  easy  and  instant  adaptation,  by  which 
it  takes  on  the  appropriate  utterance  of  every  emotion  which 
occurs  in  the  reading  or  speaking  of  a  piece  characterized  by 
varied  feeling  or  intense  passion. 

To  acquire  this  invaluable  property  of  voice,  the  most  useful 
course  of  practice  is  the  repeated  reading  or  reciting  of  passages 
marked  by  striking  contrasts  of  tone,  as  loud  or  soft,  high  or  low, 
fast  or  slow. 

The  following  exercises  should  be  repeated  till  the  pupil  can  giv« 
them  in  succession,  with  perfect  adaptation  of  voice  in  each  case 
and  with  instantaneous  precision  of  effect. 

Exercises  for  Versatility,  or  Pliancy  of  Voice : 

Very  Loud. 

"  And  dar'st  thou,  then, 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, —  ^ 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 
No  !  by  St.  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  !-^ 
Up,  drawbridge,  groom  !  What !  warder,  ho . 

Let  the  portcullis  fall !  " 

Very  Soft, 
*  I  've  seen  the  moon  climb  the  mountain's  brow, 
I  Ve  watched  the  mists  o'er  the  river  stealing, — 
But  ne'er  did  I  feel  in  my  breast,  till  now. 
So  deep,  so  calm,  and  so  holy  a  feeling: — 
'T  is  soft  as  the  thrill  which  memory  throws 
Athwart  the  soul,  in  the  hour  of  repose." 
2# 


18  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PARl     L 

Very  Low, 
"  I  had  a  dream,  which  was  not  all  a  dream, 
The  bright  sun  was  extinguished  ;  and  the  stars 
Did  wander  darkling  in  the  eternal  space, 
Rayless,  and  pathless  ;  and  the  icy  earth 
Swung  blind  and  blackening  in  the  moonless  air." 

Ve7'y  High, 

"  I  woke  : — where  was  I  ? — Do  I  see 
A  human  fiice  look  down  on  me  ? 
And  doth  a  roof  above  me  close  ? 
Do  these  limbs  on  a  couch  repose  ? 
Is  this  a  chamber  where  I  lie  ? 
And  is  it  mortal,  yon  bright  eye. 
That  watches  me  with  gentle  glance  ?  " 

Very  Slow, 
"  Of  old  hast  Thou  laid  the  foundation  of  the  earth ;  and 
the  heavens  are  the  work  of  Thy  hands.  They  shall  perish, 
but  Thou  shalt  endure;  yea,  all  of  them  shall  wax  old,  like 
a  garment;  as  a  vesture  shalt  Thou  change  them,  and  they 
shall  be  changed  :  but  Thou  art  the  same ;  and  Thy  years 
shall  have  no  end." 

Very  Quick, 

"  I  am  the  Rider  of  the  wind, 
The  Stirrer  of  the  storm  ! 
The  hurricane  I  left  behind  ♦ 

Is  yet  with  lightning  warm  ; — 
To  speed  to  thee,  o'er  shore  and  sea 

I  swept  upon  the  blast." 

4.   True  Pitch  of  Voice, 

The  proper  pitch  of  the  voice,  when  no  peculiar  emotion 
demands  high  or  low  notes,  is, — for  the  purposes  of  ordinary 
reading  or  speaking, — a  little  below  the  habitual  note  of  con- 
versation, for  the  person  who  reads  or  speaks.  Public  dis- 
course being  usually  on  graver  subjects  and  occasions,  than 
mere  private  communication,  naturally  and  properly  adopts 
this  level. 

But,  ihroujrh  mistake  or  inadvertency,  we  sometimes  hear  persona 
read  and  speak  on  too  low  a  key  for  the  easy  and  expressive  use 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  19 

of  the  voice,  and,  sometimes,  on  the  other  hand,  on  a  key  too  high 
for  convenient  or  agreeable  utterance. 

The  following  sentences  should  be  repeated  till  the  note  on  which 
they  are  pitched  is  distinctly  recognized,  and  perfectly  remembered, 
so  as  to  become  a  key  to  all  similar  passages. 

Exercise  on  Middle  Fitch, 

**  In  every  period  of  life,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is 
one  of  the  most  pleasing  employments  of  the  human  mind. 
But  in  youth,  there  are  circumstances  which  make  it  produc- 
tive of  higher  enjoyment.  It  is  then  that  every  thing  has 
the  charm  of  novelty ;  that  curiosity  and  fancy  are  awake, 
and  that  the  heart  swells  with  the  anticipations  of  future 
eminence  and  utility." 

Contrast  this  pitch  with  that  of  the  pieces  before  quoted,  as  exam- 
ples of  ^  high'  and  '  low'. 


^  II.  DUE  QUANTITY,  OR  LOUDNESS. 

The  second  characteristic  of  good  reading,  is  the  use  ot 
that  degree  of  loudness,  force,  *  volume',  or  *  quantity',  of  voice 
which  enables  those  to  whom  we  read  or  speak,  to  hear, 
without  effort,  every  sound  of  the  voice ;  and  which,  at  the 
same  time,  gives  that  degree  of  force  which  is  best  adapted 
to  the  utterance  of  the  sentiments  which  are  read  or  spoken. 

All  undue  loudness  is  a  great  annoyance  to  the  ear,  and  an  injury 
to  the  expression  ;  while  a  feeble  and  imperfect  utterance  fails  of 
thp  main  purposes  of  speech,  by  being  partly  or  entirely  inaudible, 
and  consec^uently  utterly  unimpressive. 

The  failure,  as  regards  loudness,  is  usually  made  on  passages  of 
moderate  force,  which  do  not  furnish  an  inspiring  impulse  of  emo- 
tion, and  which  depend  on  the  exercise  of  judgment  and  discrimina- 
tion, rather  than  of  feeling. 

It  is  of  great  service,  howevQr,  to  progress  in  elocution,  to  possess 
the  powxr  of  discriminating  the  various  degrees  of  force  wliich  the 
utterance  of  sentiment  requires.  The  extremes  of  very  *  loud  '  and 
very  '  soft',  required  by  peculiar  emotions,  have  been  exemplified  in 
the  exercise  on  *  versatility'  of  voice. 

There  are  three  degrees  of  loudness,  all  of  great  impor- 
tance  to  the^  appropriate  utterance  of  thought  and  feeling, 
required  in  the  usual  forms  of  composition.  These  are  the 
following  :  *  moderate',  '  forcible',  and  '  empassioned'.  The 
first,  the  *  moderate',  occurs  in  the  reading  of  plain  narrativo, 
descriptive,  or  didactic  composition,  addressed  to  the  under- 


90  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   I. 

Standing,  rather  than  to  the  feelings:  the  second,  the  *  forci- 
ble*, is  exemplified  in  energetic  declamation :  the  third,  the 
*  empassioned',  occurs  in  the  language  of  intense  emotion^ 
whether  in  the  form  of  poetry  or  of  prose. 

The  teacher's  watchful  attention  will  be  required,  in  superintend- 
ing the  pupil's  practice  on  the  following  examples,  so  as  to  enable 
him  to  detect,  and  fix  definitely,  in  his  ear,  the  exact  degree  of 
loudness  appropriate  to  each  passage.  The  exercises  should  be  re- 
peated till  they  can  be  executed  with  perfect  precision,  so  as  to  form 
a  standard  for  all  similar  expression,  in  subsequent  reading. 

Exercise  in  ^ Moderate^  Force. 

"  An  author  represents  Adam  as  using  the  following  lan- 
guage. *  I  remember  the  moment  when  my  existence  com- 
menced :  it  was  a  moment  replete  with  joy,  amazement,  and 
anxiety.  I  neither  knew  what  I  was,  where^  I  was,  nor 
whence  I  came.  I  opened  my  eyes :  what  an  increase  of 
sensation  !  The  light,  the  celestial  vault,  the  verdure  of  the 
earth,  the  transparency  of  the  waters,  gave  animation  to  my 
spirits,  and  conveyed  pleasures  which  exceed  the  powers  of 
utterance.' " 

*  Declamatory '  Force, 

"  Advance,  then,  ye  future  generations  !  We  hid  you  wel- 
come to  this  pleasant  land  of  the  Fathers.  We  bid  you 
welcome  to  the  healthful  skies,  and  the  verdant  fields  of  New 
England.  We  greet  your  accession  to  the  great  inheritance 
which  we  have  enjoyed.  We  welcome  you  to  the  blessings 
of  good  government,  and  religious  liberty.  We  welcome 
you  to  the  treasures  of  science,  and  the  delights  of  learning. 
We  welcome  you  to  the  transcendant  sweets  of  domestic  life 
to  the  happiness  of  kindred,  and  parents,  and  children.  We 
welcome  you  to  the  immeasurable  blessings  of  rational  exist- 
ence, the  immortal  hope  of  Christianity,  ^nd  the  light  of 
everlasting  Truth  !  " 

*  Empassio7ud '  Force, 

^  Shame  !  shame  !  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 
Worth  ages  of  history, — when,  had  you  but  huiled 
One  bolt  at  your  bloody  invader,  that  strife 

Between  freemen  and  tyrants,  had    spread  through    the 
world, — 


i 


1 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  21 

That  then, — Oh  !  disgrace  upon  manhood  ! — e'en  then 
You  should  falter, — should  cling  to  your  pitiful  breath,^- 

Cower  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  have  stood  men, 
And  prefer  a  slave's  life,  to  a  glorious  death ! 

It  is  strange  ! — it  is  dreadful ! — Shout,  Tyranny,  shout 

Through  your  dungeons  and  palaces,  '  Freedom  is  o'er ! ' — 

If  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  fire,  tread  it  out, 
And  return  to  your  empire  of  darkness,  once  more." 


^    III. DISTINCT    ARTICULATION. 

*'  Correct  articulation  is  the  most  important  exercise  of  the  voice 
and  of  the  organs  of  speech.  A  reader  or  speaker,  possessed  of 
only  a  moderate  voice,  if  he  articulate  correctly,  will  be  better  un- 
derstood, and  lieard  with  greater  pleasure,  than  one  who  vociferates. 
The  voice  of  the  latter  may,  indeed,  extend  to  a  considerable  dis- 
tance ;  but  the  sound  is  dissipated  in  confusion  :  of  the  former  voice 
not  the  smallest  vibration  is  wasted, — every  sound  is  perceived,  at 
the  utmost  distance  to  which  it  reaches ;  and  hence  it  even  pene- 
trates farther  than  one  which  is  loud,  but  badly  articulated. 

In  just  articulation,  the  words  are  not  hurried  over,  nor 
precipitated  syllable  over  syllable ;  nor,  as  it  \vere,  melted  to- 
gether into  a  mass  of  confusion  :  they  are  neither  abridged, 
nor  prolonged  ;  nor  swallowed,  nor  forced,  ^nd,  if  I  may  so 
express  myself,  shot  from  the  mouth ;  they  are  not  trailed 
nor  drawded,  nor  let  slip  out  carelessly,  so  as  to  drop  unfin- 
ished. They  are  delivered  out  fVom  the  lips,  as  beautiful 
coins  newdy  issued  from  the  mint,  deeply  and  accurately  im- 
pressed, perfectly  finished,  neatly  struck  by  the  proper  organs, 
distinct,  sharp,  in  due  succession,  and  of  due  weight."^ 

This  department  of  correct  reading,  belongs,  properly,  to  the 
stage  of  elementary  lessons.  But  as  negliirffnce  in  general  habit, 
and  remissness  in  early  practice,  are  extensively  the  causes  of  an 
imperfect  articulation,  it  may  be  of  great  service  to  young  readers  to 
review  the  elements  of  the  language,  in  successive  practical  exer- 
cises, as  embodied  in  a  manual  prepared  by  one  of  the  editors  of  the 
present  work.f  For  facility  of  practice  in  difficult  combinations  of 
letters  and  syllables,  some  of  the  exercises  in  Tower's  *  Gradual 
Reader',  will  also  be  found  very  serviceable.     The  preliminary  Ex- 

*  Austin's  'Chironomia,'  pp.  37,  38. 

t  'Russell's  Lessons  in  Enunciation;  comprising  a  Ccurse  of  Ele- 
mentary Exercises,  and  a  statement  of  Common  Errors  in  Articulation, 
with  the  Rules  of  Correct  Usage  in  Pronouncing.  Boston,  Jenks  4r 
Pahner.' 


2ii  AMERICAN    COMMON- SCHOOL  [PART   I 

ercises  iQ  Articulation  and  Pronunciation,  prefixed  to  the  volura« 
prepared  as  an  *  Introduction  *  to  the  present  work,  are  designed  t^ 
serve  tlic  purpose  of  an  extensive  discipline  in  this  dej)'irtinent  oi 
elocution.  A  brief  course,  of  a  similar  nature,  but  adapted  to  juve 
nile  rea^lers,  is  contained  in  an  elementary  book  compiled  by  one  o^* 
the  editors  of  this  Reader.* 

A  page  or  a  parafrraph  of  every  reading  lesson,  should,  previou* 
to  the  regular  exercise,  be  read  backward^  for  the  purpose  of  arrest 
ing  the  attention,  and  securing  every  sound  in  every  word. 

The  design  of  the  present  volume,  does  not  admit  of  detail,  in  the 
department  of  elocution  now  under  consideration.  The  importance, 
however,  of  a  perfectly  distinct  enunciation  can  never  be  impressed 
too  deeply  on  the  mind  of  the  pupils  An  exact  articulation  is  more 
conducive  than  any  degree  of  loudness,  to  facility  of  hearing  and 
understanding.  Young  readers  should  be  accustomed  to  pronounce 
every  word,  every  syllable,  and  every  letter,  with  accuracy,  al- 
though without  labored  effort.  The  faults  of  skipping,  slighting, 
mumbling,  swallowing,  or  drawling  the  sounds  of  vowels  or  of  con- 
sonants, are  not  only  offensive  to  the  ear,  but  subversive  of  meaning, 
as  may  be  perceived  in  the  practice  of  several  of  the  following 
examples. 

1.  "  That  \vists  fill  night :  that  la^^  st'iW  night." 

2.  '*  He  can  debate  o7i  either  side  of  the  question :   he  can 

debate  on  neiihex  side  of  the  question." 

3.  "  The  steadfast  ^^ranger  in  the  {oxests  5^rayed." 

4.  "  Who  ever  imagined  such  an  ocean  to  exist  ? — Who  ever 

iniagined^such  a  ?iotion  to  exist?" 

5.  "  His  cry  7710 ved  me  :  his  cxime  ?7A0ved  me." 

6.  "  He  could  pay  nohoAy  :  he  could  \iain  7iobody." 

7.  "  Up  the  Aigh  h\\\  he  Aeaves  a  Auge  round  stone." 

8.  "  Tho'  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire." 

9.  "  Heaven's  ^xst  stax  alike  ye  see." 


L 


^    IV. CORRECT    PRONUNCIATION. 

That  pronunciation  is  correct  which  is  sanctioned  by  good 
usage,  or  custom.  Good  usage  implies  the  habit  of  persons 
of  good  education,  as  regulated  by  the  decisions  of  learning 
and  taste,  exemplified  in  standard  dictionaries, — a  style 
which  is  equally  free  from  the  errors  of  uneducated  or  neg- 
ligent custom,  and  the  caprices  of  pedantry, — which  falls  in 

•  'Kussell's  Primary  Rcailer :  a  Selection  of  easy  Reading  Lessons, 
with  iuirotiuciory  I-IxtMcise:*  iii  Articulation,  for  Young  Chihlren.  Bos- 
^n  •  Tap[»an  &s.  Dennet.' 


rJlRT    I.J  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  23 

with  the  current  of  cultivated  mind,  and  does  not  deviate 
into  peculiarities,  on  the  mere  authority  of  individuals. 
Good  taste  in  pronunciation,  while  it  allows  perfect  freedom 
of  choice,  as  to  the  mode  of  pronouncing  words  liable  to 
variation  in  sound  or  accent,  requires  a  compliance  with 
every  fixed  point  of  sanctioned  usage. 

The  subject  of  pronunciation,  like  the  preceding  one, — articula- 
tion,— belongs  properly  to  the  department  of  elementary  instruc- 
tion.* But  as  tills  branch  of  elocution  does  not  always  receive  its 
due  share  of  seasonable  attention,  many  errors  in  pronunciation  art 
apt  to  occur  in  the  exercise  of  reading,  as  performed  by  even  the  ad- 
vanced classes  in  schools.  To  avoid  such  errors,  it  will  be  founa 
useful  to  discuss  closely  and  minutely,  the  correct  pronunciation  of 
every  word  which,  in  any  lesson,  is  liable  to  be  mispronounced 
The  standard  of  reference,  in  such  cases,  ought  to  be  Walker's 
Dictionary,  Worcester's  edition  of  Johnson  and  Walker  combmed, 
or  the  same  author's  edition  of  Dr.  Webster's  Dictionary. 

All  reading  lessons  should,  if  practicable,  be  read  to  the  class,  by 
the  teacher,  one  day  beforehand,  so  as  to  allow  opportunity  for  care- 
ful and  critical  study,  at  home,  previous  to  the  exercise  of  reading, 
on  the  part  of  the  pupils.  Seasonable  informatit)n  will  thus  be  ob- 
tained, and  eiTors  avoided,  instead  of  being  merely  corrected  after 
they  have  occurred,  and  when  it  is  too  late  to  secure  good  habit  or 
avoid  bad. 


^    V. TRUE    TIME. 

By  true  time,  in  elocution,  is  meant,  an  utterance  well- 
proportioned  in  sound  and  pause,  and  neither  too  fast  nor 
too  slow.  We  should  never  read  so  fast  as  to  render  our 
reading  indistinct,  nor  so  slow  as  to  impair  the  vivacity,  or 
prevent  the  full  effect,  of  what  is  read. 

**  Every  thing  tender,  or  solemn,  plaintive,  or  grave,  should  be  read 
with  great  moderation.  Every  thing  humorous  or  sprightly,  every 
thing  witty  or  amusing,  should  be  read  in  a  brisk  and  lively  manner. 
Narration  should  be  generally  equable  and  flowing-  ;  vehemence, 
firm  and  accelerated  ;  anger  and  joy  rapid  ;  whereas  dignity,  author- 
ity, subHmity,  reverence,  and  awe,  should,  along  with  deeper  lone, 
assume  a  slower  movement.  The  movement  should,  in  every  in- 
stance, be  adapted  to  the  sense,  and  free  from  all  hurry,  on  the  one 
hand,  or  drawling  on  the  other."  The  pausing,  too,  should  be 
carefully  proportioned  to  the  movement  or  rate  of  the  voice  ;  and  no 
change  of  movement  .*^om  slow  to  fast,  or  the  revcse,  should  lake 
place  in  any  clause,  unless  a  change  of  emotion  is  implied  in  the 
language  of  the  piece. 

*  The  subject  of  Pronunciation  forms  a  large  part  of  the  Elementary 
i^xcrciscs  contained  in  the  '  InlroiUiction '  to  this  Reader. 


24  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  fPART    I. 

Exercises  on  Time. 

The  *  slowest '  and  the  *  quickest '  rates  of  utterance,  have  been 
exemplified  under  the  head  of  *  versatility '  of  voice,  and  need  not 
be  repeated  here.  They  occur  in  the  extremes  of  grave  and  gay 
emotion. 

There  are  three  important  applications  of  '  time '  in  con- 
nexion with  *  rate',  or  *  movement',  which  frequently  occur 
in  the  common  forms  of  reading  and  speaking.  These  are 
the  *  slow',  the  *  moderate',  and  the  '  lively'.  The  first  of 
these,  the  '  slow',  is  exhibited  in  the  tones  of  aioe^  reverence^ 
and  solemnity,  when  these  emotions  are  not  so  deep  as  to 
require-  the  slowest  movement  of  all :  the  second,  the  *  mod- 
erate', belongs  to  grave  and  serious  expression,  when  not  so 
deep  as  to  require  the  *  slow '  movement ;  it  belongs,  also,  to 
all  unempassioned  communication,  addressed  to  the  under- 
standing, more  than  to  \he  feelings  ;  and  it  is  exemplified  in 
the  utterance  of  moderate,  subdued,  and  chastened  emotion : 
the  third  rate,  the  *  lively',  is  perhaps  sufHciently  indicated  by 
its  designation,  as  characterizing  all  animated^  cheerful,  and 
gay  expressioji. 

All  the  exercises  on  *time',  should  be  repeated  till  they  can  be 
exemplified  perfectly,  and  at  once.  Previous  to  practising  the  fol- 
lowing exercises,  the  pupil  may  be  aided  in  forming  distinct  and 
well-defined  ideas  of  *  time',  by  turning  back  to  the  example  under 
*  verbatility',  marked  as  *  very  slow',  and  repeating  it,  with  close 
attention  to  its  extreme  slowness.  He  will  observe  that,  in  the  re- 
pealing of  this  example,  the  effect  of  '  time',  or  proportion  of  move- 
ment, is  to  cause  a  remarkable  lengthening  out  of  the  sound  of 
every  accented  vowel ;  an  extreme  slowness  in  the  succession  of  the 
sounds  of  all  letters,  syllables,  and  words :  and,  along  with  all  this, 
an  unusual  length  in  all  the  pauses.  It  is  this  adjustment  of  single 
and  successive  sounds  and  their  intermissions,  which  properly  con- 
stitutes the  ofhce  of  '  time  '  in  elocution  ;  although  the  term  is  often 
indefinitely  used  rather  as  synonymous  with  the  word  'movement', 
<is  applied  in  music. 

The  *  slow '  movement  differs  from  the  *  slowest',  in  not 
possessing  the  same  extreme  prolongation  of  sound  in  single 
vowels,  or  the  same  length  of  pause.  The  slow  succession 
of  sounds  is,  however,  a  common  characteristic  in  both. 

Exampfe  of  *  Sloio '  Movement. 

"  Tiiou,  who  did'st  put  to  flight 
Primeval  silence,  when  the  morning  stars, 
Exultinji  shovilwl  o'er  the  rising  ball ; 


^4RT    l/  READER    AND    SPEAKER  25 

O  Thou,  whose  word  from  solid  darkness  struck 
That  spark,  the  sun,  strike  wisdom  from  my  soul '  *' 

*  Moderate'. 

"  There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  a  taste  for 
the  cultivation  of  forest  trees^  It  argues,  I  think,  a  sweet 
and  generous  nature,  to  have  a  strong  relish  for  the  beauties 
of  vegetation,  and  a  friendship  for  the  hardy  and  glorious 
sens  of  the  forest.  There  is  a  grandeur  of  thought,  connect- 
ed with  this  part  of  rural  economy.  It  is  worthy  of  liberal, 
and  freeborn,  and  aspiring  men.  He  who  plants  an  oak, 
looks  forward  to  future  ages,  and  plants  for  posterity.  No- 
khing  can  be  less  selfish  than  this.  He  cannot  expect  to  sit 
m  its  shade,  and  enjoy  its  shelter;  but  he  exults  in  the 
idea  that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried  in  the  earth,  shall 
grow  up  into  a  lofty  pile,  and  shall  keep  on  flourishing,  and 
increasing,  and  benefiting  mankind,  long  after  he  shall  have 
ceased  to  tread  his  paternal  fields." 

*  Lively  \ 

"  How  does  the  water  come  down  at  Lodore  ? 

Here  it  comes  sparkling. 

And  there  it  lies  darkling ; 

Here  smoking  and  frothing, 

Its  tumult  and  wrath  in, 
It  hastens  along,  conflicting  and  strongs 

Now  striking  and  raging, 

As  if  a  war  waging. 
Its  caverns  and  rocks  among, — 

SWeUin<]f  and  flino^ino- 

Showering  and  springing, 

Eddying  and  whisking, 

Spouting  and  frisking, 

Turninof  and  twistinof 
Around  and  around, — 

Collecting,  disjecting. 
With  endless  rebound." 


^    VI. APPROPRIATE    PAUSES. 

The  grammatical  punctuation  of  sentences,  by  which  they 
are  divided  into  clauses  by  commas,  although  sufficiently  dis- 


26  amekican  common-school  [part  i. 

tinct  for  the  purpose  of  separating  the  syntactical  portions  of 
the  structure,  are  not  adequate  to  the  object  of  marking  all 
the  audible  pauses,  which  sense  and  feeling  require,  in  read- 
ing aloud.  Hence  we  find,  that  intelligible  and  impressive 
reading  depends  on  introducing  many  short  j^auses,  not  indi- 
cated by  commas  or  other  points,  but  essential  to  the  meaning 
of  phrases  and  sentences.  These  shorter  pauses  are,  for  dis- 
tinction's sake,  termed  '  rhetorical'. 

Powerful  emotion  not  unfrequently  suggests  another  spe- 
cies of  pause,  adapted  to  the  utterance  of  deep  feeling.  This 
pause  sometimes  takes  place  where  there  is  no  grammatical 
point  used,  and  sometimes  is  added  to  give  length  to  a  gram- 
matical pause.  This  pause  may  be  termed  the  *  oratorical', 
or  the  pause  of  *  effect'. 

Note.  The  length  of  the  rhetorical  pause  depends  on  the 
length  oi  the  clause,  or  the  significance  of  the  word  which 
follows  it.  The  full  *  rhetorical  pause'  is  marked  thus  II, 
the  *  half  rhetorical  pause',  thus  |  ,  and  the  short  *  rhetorical 
pause',  thus  •  . 

Rules  for  *  Rhetorical '  Pauses, 
The  *  rhetorical '  pause  takes  place,  as  follows  : 

Rule  I.  Before  a  verb,  when  the  nominative  is  long,  or  when 
it  is  emphatic. — Ex.   "  Life  II  is  short,  and  art  II  is  long." 

Rule  II.  Before  and  after  an  intervening  phrase. 
Ex.    "  Talents  II  without  application  II  are  no  security  for 
progress  in  learning." 

Rule  III.  Wherever  transposition  of  phrases  may  take  place. 

Ex.    "  Through  dangers  the  most  appalling  II  he  advanced 

with  heroic  intrepidity." 
Rule  IV.  Before  an  adjective  following  its  noun. 

Ex.   *'  Hers  was  a  soul  II  replete  with  every  noble  quality.*^ 

Rule  V.  Before  relative  pronouns,  prepositions,  conjunctions, 
or  adverbs  used  conjunctively,  when  followed  by  a  clause 
depending  on  them. — Ex.  *'  A  physician  was  called  in  II 
who  prescribed  appropriate  remedies."  '^  The  traveller  be- 
gan his  journey  II  in  the  highest  spirits  II  and  with  the 
most  delightful  anticipations." 

Ru^e  VI.'  Where  ellipsis,  or  omission  of  words,  takes  place. 
— Ex.  "  To  your  elders  manifest  becoming  deference,  to 
your  companions  II  frankness,  to  your  juniors  II.  condescen 


PART     .]  REAITER    AND    SPEAitKR.  27 

Rule  VII.  Before  a  verb  in  the  infinitive  mood,  governed  by 
another  verb. — Ex.  "  The  general  now  commanded  his  tp' 
served  force  11  to  advance  to  the  aid  of  the  main  body.'* 

Exercise  on  *  Rhetorical  Pauses . 

"  Industry  II  is  the  guardian  '  cf  innocence." 

"  Honor  II  is  the  subject  '  of  my  story." 

"  The  prodigal  11  lose  many  opportunities  '  for  doing  good." 

"  Prosperity  II   gains  friends,  adversity  II  tries  them." 

"  Time  II  once  passed  II  never*  returns." 

"  He  I  that  hath  no  rule  '  over  his  own  spirit,  is  like  8 
city  •  that  is  broken  down,  and  without  walls." 

"  Better  '  is  a  dinner  of  herbs  II  where  love  |  is,  than  a 
stalled  ox  II  and  hatred  |  therewith". 

"  The  veil  II  which  covers  '  from  our  sight  |  the  events  ' 
of  succeeding  years,  is  a  veil  '  woven  by  the  hand  of  mercy." 

"  Blessed  II  are  the  poor  in  spirit." 

"  Silver  '  and  gold  II  have  I  none." 

"  Mirth  II  I  consider  '  as  an  act,  cheerfulness  II  as  a  habit  ' 
of  the  mind.     Mirth  II  is  short  '  and  transient,  cheerfulness  li 
fixed  '  and  permanent.     Mirth  II  is  like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
that  glitters  '   for  a  moment :  cheerfulness  II  keeps  up  a  kind 
of  daylight  '   in  the  mind." 

"  Some  II  place  the  bliss  '   in  action,  some  II  in  ease  : 
Those  11  call  it  pleasure,  and  contentment  II  these." 

Tlie  habitual  tendency  of  young  readers  being  to  hurry,  in  read- 
ing, their  pauses  are  liable  to  become  too  short  for  (listinctaess,  or  to 
be  entirely  omitted.  In  most  of  the  above  examples,  the  precision, 
beauty,  and  force  of  the  sentiment,  depend  much  on  the  careful  ob- 
servance of  the  rlictorical  pauses.  The  teacher  may  impart  an  idea 
of  their  effect,  by  allowing  each  sentence  to  be  read,  first,  without  the 
rhetorical  pauses, — secondly,  with  pauses  made  at  wrong  places,— 
thirdly,  with  the  pausing  as  marked. 

Rule  on  the  *  Oratorical '  Pause, 

Tne  *  oratorical  *  pause  is  introduced  in  those  passages 
which  express  the  deepest  and  most  solemn  emotions,  such 
as  naturally  arrest  and  overpower,  rather  than  inspire,  utter- 
ance. 

Examples.  "  The  sentence  was — death  !  "  "  There  is  one 
sure  refuge  for  the  oppressed,  one  sure  resting-place  for  the 
sveary, — the  grave  !  "  [Application— See  page  76.] 


2S                                     AMERICAN    COMRION-SCHOOL  [PARl    % 

^   VII. BRIGHT   EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis  distinguishes  the  most  significant  or  expressive 
words  of  a  sentence. 

It  properly  includes  several  functions  of  voice,  in  addition  to  the 
element  of  force.  An  enphatic  word  is  not  unfrequently  distin- 
guished by  the  peculiar  '  tune',  '  pitch',  *  stress',  and  '  inflection  '  of 
its  accented  sound.  But  all  these  properties  are  partially  merged, 
to  the  ear,  in  the  great  comparative  force  of  the  sound.  Hence  it  is 
customary  to  regard  emphasis  as  merely  special  force.  This  view 
of  the  subject  would  not  be  practically  incorrect,  if  it  were  under- 
stood as  conveying  the  idea  of  a  special  force  superadded  to  all  the 
other  characteristics  of  tone  and  emotion,  in  the  word  to  which  it 
applies. 

Emphasis  is  'either  '  absolute  *  or  *  relative'.  The  former 
occurs  in  the  utterance  of  a  single  thought  or  feeling,  of  great 
energy :  the  latter,  in  the  correspondence  or  contrast  of  two 
or  more  ideas. 

*  Absolute'  emphasis  is  either  ^  empassioned '  or  *  distinct- 
ive*. The  former  expresses  strong  emotion. — Example, 
"  False  wizard,  avaunt  !  "  ^ — The  latter  designates  objects 
to  the  attention,  or  distinguishes  them  to  the  understanding. 
— Ex,  **  The  fall  of  irtan  is  the  main  subject  of  Milton's 
great  poem." 

*  Relative '  emphasis  occurs  in  words  which  express  com- 
parison, correspondence,  or  contrast. — Example,  "  Cowardo 
die  7nany  times;  the  Irave,  but  07ice,^^ 

Rides  on  Emphasis, 

Rule  I.  Exclamations  and  interjections  usually  require 
*  empassioned '  emphasis,  or  the  strongest  force  of  utterance. 

Examples.  "  Woe !  to  the  traitor,  WOE ! " — "  UP !  comrade^ 
UP!"— "AWAKE!  ARISE!  or  be  for  EVER  fallen! 

"  Ye  icefalls  ! 

Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  ! 

Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven, 

Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ? — 

*  Three  degrees  of  emphasis  are  usually  thus  denoted  in  type  .  the 
first,  by  Italic  letters;  the  second,  by  small  capitals;  and  the  third,  by 
larjrc  capitals.  Thus,  "You  shall  DIE,  uase  d  >o  !  ami  that  before  yon 
d(md  has  passed  over  the  .ww/" — Somoiimes  a  fourth,  by  Italic  cap- 
ilaU.— thus,  "  Never,  NEVER,  iVE  VER  I  "  » 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  29 

God  !  GOD  I  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Utter  :  the  ice-plain  bursts,  and  answers,  God! 
The  silent  snow-mass,  loosening,  thunders,  GOD!" 

Rule  II.  Every  new  incident  in  a  narration,  every  new 
object  in  a  description,  and  every  new  subject  in  a  didactic 
passage,  requires  '  distinctive  '  emphasis,  or  a  force  of  utter- 
ince  sufficient  to  render  it  striking  or  prominent. 

Examples.  "  Their  frail  bark  was,  in  a  moment,  overset^ 
and  a  watery  grave  seemed  to  be  the  inevitable  doom  of  the 
whole  party." — "  The  eye  rested  with  delight  on  the  long, 
low  range  of  beautifully  tinted  clouds ^  which  skirted  the  ho- 
rizon."— *'  The  power  oi  faith  was  the  subject  of  the  preach- 
er's discourse." 

Rule  III.  All  correspondent,  and  all  antithetic,  or  con- 
trasted words,  require  a  force  sufficient  to  distinguish  them 
from  all  the  other  words  in  a  sentence,  and  to  make  them 
stand  out  prominently.  When  the  comparison  or  contrast  is 
of  equal  force,  in  its  constituent  parts,  the  emphasis  is  exactly 
6alanced,  in  the  words  to  which  it  is  applied :  when  one  of 
the  objects  compared  or  contrasted,  is  meant  to  preponderate 
over  the  other,  the  emphasis  is  stronger  on  the  word  by 
which  the  preponderance  is  exnressed. 

Examples,  "  The  gospel  is  j.^eached  equally  to  the  rich 
and  to  the  poor.'' — "  Custom  is  the  plague  of  ivise  men,  and 
the  idol  oi  fools.'' — "  The  man  is  more  knave  than  fooL'^ 


Exercises  in  ^Relative'  Emphasis. 


*  Virtue  II  is  better  than  riches." 

'  Study  II  not  so  much  to  show  knowledge,  as  to  acquire  it.*' 
'  They  went  out  from  us,  but  they  were  not  of  us." 

*  He  I  that  cannot  bear  a  jest,  should  not  make  one." 
'  It  is  not  so  easy  to  hide  one's  faults,  as  to  mend  them." 
'  I  I  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart." 

*  You  have  done  that  |  you  should  be  sorry  for." 
'  Why  beholdest  thou  the  mote  II  that  is  in  thy  brother's 

eye,  but  considerest  not  the  beam  II  that  is  in  thine  oion  eye  ?" 

9.  "  As  it  is  the  part  of  justice  II  never  to  do  vicdcnce ;  so  it 

is  the  part  o^  modesty  II  never  to  commit  offence." 

10.  ^^  K  friend  II  cannot  be  known  II  in  prosperity;  and  an 
enemy  II  cannot  be  hidden  II  in  adversity." 

3^ 


30  AiMBRICAN    OOMMON-SCnOOL  [PART   i. 

Note.  Emphatic  clauses,  (those  in  which  every  word  ij» 
emphrrtic,)  are  sometimes  pronounced  on  a  lower,  somotimeji 
on  a  higher  key,  but  always  with  an  intense  force. 

Exainphs, 

1.  "  Heaven  and  earth  will  witness, — 

If  '  Rome  '  must  '  fall, — that  we   II    are   innocent.' 

2.  "  This  state  had  then  not  one  ship, — no,   not  '  one  • 
VZ-ALL  ! " 

3.  "  But  youth,  it  seems,  is  not  my  only  crime  :  I  have 
been  accused  II  of  acting  a  theatrical  part,^^ 

4.  "  As  to  the  present  ministry,  I  cannot  give  them  my  con- 
fidence. Pardon  me,  gentlemen :  Confidence  is  a  plant  of 
SLOW  growth^ 

General  Beniark.  Young  readers  are  commonly  deficient  in  em- 
phasis, and,  hence,  feeble  and  unimpressive,  in  their  style  of  read- 
ing. Teachers  should  exert  much  vigilance  on  this  point.  At  the 
same  time,  an  overdone  emphasis  is  one  of  the  surest  indications  of 
defective  judgment  and  bad  taste.  Faults  which  result  from  study 
are  always  the  most  offensive.        [Application — See  page  87.] 


^  VIII. — correct  INFLECTIONS. 

*  Inflection'  in  elocution,  signifies  an  upward  or  downward 
*  slide '  of  voice,  from  the  average,  or  level  of  a  sentence. 

There  are  two  simple  '  inflections',  or  *  slides', — the  upward 
or  *  rising',  and  the  downward  or  *  falling'.  The  former  is 
usually  marked  by  the  acute  accent,  ['] — the  latter,  by  the 
grave  accent,  [^]. 

The  union  of  these  two  inflections,  on  the  same  syllable,  is 
called  the  *  circumflex',  or  *  wave'. — When  the  circumflex 
commences  with  the  falling  inflection,  and  ends  with  the  ris- 
ing, it  is  called  the  'rising  circumflex', — [marked  thus  v,] — 
when  it  begins  with  the  rising,  and  ends  with  the  falling,  it  is 
called  the  '  falling  circumflex', — [marked  thus,  ^]. 

When  the  tone  of  the  voice  has  no  upward  or  downward 
slide,  but  keeps  comparatively  level,  it  is  called  the  '  mono- 
tone',— [marked  thus  — ]. 

Examples:  rising  inflection, — 'Intensive',  or  high,  up- 
ward slide,  as  in  the  tone  of  surprise,  "  Ha  !  Is  it  possible  !  " 
— in  the  usual  tone  of  a  question  that  may  be  answered  by 
Yes  or  No, "  Is  it  really  so  ?  " — '  Moderate  '  rising  inflection, 
as  at  the  end  of  a  clause  which  leaves  the  sense  dependent 
on  what  follows  it.     "  If  we  are  sincerely  desirous  of  advanc- 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAiCEH.  &1 

ing-  in  knowledge,  we  shall  not  be  spi 

*  Slight '  rising  inflection,  as  when  the  voi^      ^ 

unexpectedly  interrupted :    "  When  the   visitor^HBFSirThe 
room "    #  =^  =J^    # 

Note.  The  last  mentioned  inflection,  may,  for  distinction's  sake, 
be  marked  as  above,  to  indicate  the  absence  of  any  positive  upward 
or  downward  slide,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
intentional  and  prolonged  level  of  the  '  monotone.' 

*  Falling'  inflection, — '  intensive',  or  bold  and  low  down- 
ward slide,  as  in  the  tone  of  anger  and  scorn :  *'  Down,  500^^- 
iess  i7isulter  /" — The  'full',  falling  inflection,  as  in  the  cadence 
at  a  period  :  "  All  his  efforts  were  in  vain." 

The  '  moderate '  falling  inflection,  as  at  the  end  of  a  clause 
which  forms  complete  sense  :  "  Do  not  presume  on  wealth ;  il 
may  be  swept  from  you  in  a  mom.ent."  "  The  horses  were 
harnessed;  the  carriages  w^ere  driven  up  to  the  door;  the 
party  were  seated ;  and,  in  a  few  moments,  the  mansion  wa? 
left  to  its  former  silence  and  solitude." 

The  *  suspensive',  or  slight  falling  inflection,  as  in  the 
members  of  a  *  series',  or  sequence  of  words  and  clauses,  in 
the  same  syntactical  connexion  :  *'  The  force,  the  size,  the 
W(^ight,  of  the  ship,  bore  the  schooner  down  below  the  wavec." 
"  The  irresistible  force,  the  vast  size,  the  prodigious  weight 
of  the  ship,  rendered  the  destruction  of  the  schooner  in- 
evitable." 

The  '  suspensive '  downward  slide,  is  marked  as  above,  to 
distinguish  it  from  the  deeper  inflection  at  the  end  of  a  clause, 
or  of  a  sentence. 


table   of  contrasted  inflections 

The  Rising  followed  by  the  Falling. 

1.  "  Will  you  go,  or  stay?" 

2.  "  Will  you  ride,  or  walk  ?  " 

3.  "  Did  he  travel  for  health,  or  for  pleasure  ?" 

4.  "  Does  he  pronounce  correctly,  or  incorrectly  ?  " 

5.  "  Is  it  the  rising,  or  the  falling  inflection  ?  " 

The  Falliiig  folloiued  by  the  Risi?ig, 

1.  "  I  would  rather  go  than  stay." 

2.  "  I  would  rather  walk  than  ride." 

3.  "  He  travelled  for  health,  not  pleasure." 

4.  "  He  pronounces  correctly,  not  incorrectly." 

5.  "  It  is  the  falling,  not  the  rising  inflectiori." 


3^  AMEKICXAN    COJMJilON-SCHOOL  [tAit%    L 

EXAMPLES    OF    CIRCUNFLEX. 

''«ltdl9jfil?^^-''  "  I  '^^  Caught  you,  then,  at  last !  " 
Tro7iy,    *n5ourageous  chief  I — the  first  in  flight  fiom  pain  !" 
Plaining.  **  And  though  heavy  to  weigh,  as  a  score  of  fat 
sheep, 
He  was  not,  by  any  means,  heavy  to  sleep." 

EXAMPLE    OF    MONOTONE. 

Aioe  and  Horror, 

"  I  could  a  tale  unfold  whose  lightest  word 
Would  harrow  up  thy  soul,  freeze  thy  young  bfood. 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their  spheres, 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part. 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end, 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine." 

Rules  on  the  Rising  Inflection, 

Rule  I.  The  '  intensive'  or  high  rising  intiection,  expresses 
surprise  and  wonder. — Example.  "Ha!  laugh'st  thou,  Lo- 
chiel,  my  vision  to  scorn  ? " 

Rule  II.  The  'moderate'  rising  inflection  takes  plac( 
where  the  sense  is  incomplete,  and  depends  on  somethinj 
which  follows. — Ex.  "  As  we  cannot  discern  the  shadow 
moving  along  the  dial-plate,  so  w^e  cannot  always  trace  oui 
progress  in  knowledge." 

Note.  Words  and  phrases  of  address,  as  they  are  mereb 
introductory  expressions,  take  the  *  moderate  rising  inflection, 
— Example  1.  "  Friends,  I  come  not  here  to  talk." — 2.  "  Sir,'* 
I  deny  that  the  assertion  is  correct." — 3.  "  Soldiers,  you  fight 
for  home  and  liberty  !  " 

Exception.  In  emphatic  and  in  lengthened  phrases  of  ad- 
dress, the  falling  inflection  takes  place. — Example  1.  "  On  ! 
ye  brave,  who  rush  to  glory  or  the  grave  !  " — 2.  "  Soldiers  ! 
if  my  standard  falls,  look  for  the  plume  upon  your  kiiig's  heh 
met  /"* — 3.  "  My  friends,  my  followers,  and  my  chiMren  I  the 
field  we  have  entered,  is  one  from  which'  there  is  no  retreat." 
— 4.  "  Gentlemen  and  knights, — commoners  and  soldiers, 
EdwzLrd  the  Fourth  upon  his  throne,  will  not  profit  by  a  vic- 
tory more  than  you." 

Kule  III.  The  *  suspensive',  or  slight  rising  inflection,  oc- 
curs, when  expression  is  suddenly  broken  off)  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing passage  in  dialogue. 

*  Shouting  tone. 


PART   I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  33 

Ex.  Poet.  "  The  poisoning  d^me — Friend,  You  mean — 
P.  I  don't.     F.  You  do." 

JSote.  This  inflection,  prolonged,  is  used  m  the  appropriate 
tone  of  reading  verse,  or  of  poetic  prose,  when  not  emphatic, 
instead  of  a  distinct  rising  or  falling  inflection,  which  would 
have  the  ordinary  eflTect  of  prosaic  utterance,  or  would  divest 
the  expression  of  all  its  beauty. 

Ex.   1.  "  Here  waters,  woods,  and  winds  in  concert  join." 

2.  "  And  flocks,  woods,  streams  around,  repose  and  peace 

impart." 

3.  "  The  wild  brook  babbling  down  the  mountain's  side ; 
The  lowing  herd  ;  the  sheepfold's  simple  bell ; 

The  pipe  of  early  shepherd,  dim  descried 
In  the  lone  valley ;  echoing  far  aiKl  wide. 
The  clamorous  horn,  along  the  clifls  above ; 
The  hollow  murmur  of  the  ocean  tide  ; 
The  hum  of  bees,  the  linnet's  lay  of  love,^ 
And  the  full  choir  that  wakes  the  universal  grove." 

4.  ''  White  houses  peep  through  the  trees ;    cattle    stand 
cooling  in  the  pool ;  the  casement  of  the  farm-house  is  cov- 
ered with  jessamine  and  honeysuckle;^  the  stately  green 
house  exhales  the  perfume  of  summer  climates." 

Rule  IV.  A  question  which  may  be  answered  by  Yes  or 
JVb,  usually  ends  wnth  the  rising  inflection. — Example.  "  Do 
you  see  yon  cloud  ? " 

Exception.  Emphasis,  as  in  the  tone  of  impatience,  of  ex- 
treme earnestness,  or  of  remonstrance,  may,  in  such  cases  as 
the  above,  take  the  falling  inflection. — Example.  "  Cci?t  you 
be  so  infatuated  as  to  pursue  a  course  which  you  know  will 
end  in  your  ruin  !  " — "  Will  you  blindly  rush  on  destruc- 
tion?"— "  Would  you  say  so,  if  the  case  were  your  ownT^ 

Rule  V.  The  penultimate,  or  last  inflection  but  one,  is,  in 
most  sentences,  a  rising  slide,  by  which  the  voice  prepares  for 
an  easy  and  natural  descent  at  the  cadence. — Example.  "  The 
rocks  crumble,  the  trees  fall,  the  leaves  fade,  and  the  grass 
withers." 

Exception.  Emphasis  may  sometimes  make  the  penulti- 
mate inflection  fall,  instead  of  rising ;  as  the  abruptness  of 
:hat  slide  gives  a  more  forcible  effect. — Example.  "  They 
have  rushed  through  like  a  hurricane  ;  like  an  army  of  16 

*  The  penultimate  infleclion  of  a  sentence,  or  a  stanza,  usi  ally  rises, 
so  as  to  prepare  for  an  ea.sy  cadence.     See  Rule  V. 


34  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    1 

custs,  they  have  devoured  the  earth  ;  the  war  has  fallen  like 
a  water  sp6ut,  and  deluged  the  land  with  blood." 

Rules  071  the  Falling  Inflection, 

RiTLK  I.  The  •  intensive,  downward  slide',  or  *  low',  falling 
inflection,  occurs  in  the  emphasis  of  vehement  emotio7i, — Ex- 
ample,  *'  On  !  6N  !  to  the  just  and  the  glorious  strife  ! " 

Rule  II.  The  *  full '  falling  inflection  usually  takes  place  at 
the  cadence,  or  close,  of  a  sentence. — Example,  "  No  life  is 
pleasing  to  God,  but  that  which  is  useful  to  mankind." 

Exception.  When  the  meaning  expressed  at  the  close  of 
one  sentence,  is  modified  by  the  sense  of  the  next,  the  voice 
may  rise,  instead  of  falling. — Examples.  "  We  are  not  here 
to  discuss  this  question.  We  are  come  to  act  upon  it." — 
"  Gentlemen  may  cry  '  peace,  peace ! '  But  there  is  no 
peace." 

Rule  III.  The  *  moderate '  falling  inflection  occurs  at  the 
end  of  a  clause  which  forms  complete  sense,  independently| 
of  what  follows  it. — Example.  "  Law  and  order  are  forgot- 
ten :    violence  and  rapine  are  abroad  :    the  golden  cords  of 
society  are  loosed." 

Exception.  Plaintive  expression,  and  poetic  style,  whether 
in  the  form  of  verse  or  of  prose,  take  the  '  slight '  rising  in- 
flection, in  its  prolonged  form. 

Example  1.  "  Cold  o'er  his  limbs  the  listless  languor  grew; 
Paleness  came  o'er  his  eye  of  placid  blue ; 
Pale  mourned  the  lily  where  the  rose  had  died ; 
And  timid,  trembling,  came  he  to  my  side." 
2.  "  The  oaks  of  the  mountains  fall  :  the  mountains  them- 
selves decay  with  years ;  the  ocean  shrinks  and  grows  again ; 
the  moon  herself  is  lost  in  heaven  )^  but  thou  art  for  ever 
the  same,  rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of  thy  course." 

Rule  IV.  The  '  suspensive',  or  slight  falling  inflection, 
takes  place  in  every  member  but  one  of  the  *  series',  or  suc- 
cessive words  and  clauses,  connected  by  the  same  conjunction, 
expressed  or  understood. 

Note  1.  A  succession  of  words  is  termed  a  '  simple  series', 
— a  succession  of  clauses^  a  *  compound  series.'     A  succes- 
sion of  words    which    leave    sense    incomplete^  is   termed  a 
'commencing  series',  that   which   leaves  complete   sense,   a 
concluding  series'. — A  *  commencing  series '  is  read  with 

•  Rising  slide,  for  contrast  to  the  followinj(  clause. 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  35 

the  *  suspensive*,  or  slight  falling  inflection,  on  every  member 
Dut  the  last;  a  concluding  series,  with  the  'suspensive'  slide 
on  every  member,  except  the  penultimate,  or  last  but  one. 

Examples.  *  Simple  Commencing  Series' ;  "  The  dir,  the 
^arth,  the  water,  teem  with  delighted  existence." — '  Simple 
Concluding  Series':  "Delighted  existence  teems  in  the  -kxx, 
the  earth,^  and  the  water."! — *  Compound  Commencing  Se- 
ries' :  "  The  fluid  expanse  of  the  air,  the  surface  of  the  solid 
earth,  the  liquid  element  of  water,  teem  with  delighted  exist- 
ence."— 'Compound  Concluding  Series':  "Delighted  exist- 
ence teems  in  the  fluid  expanse  of  the  air,  the  surface  of  the 
solid  earth,''^  and  the  liquid  element  of  water."! 

Exception  1.  Emphatic,  abrupt,  and  disconnected  series, 
may  have  the  'moderate'  or  the  'bold'  downward  slide,  on 
every  member,  according  to  the  intensity  of  expression. 

Examples:  1.  "His  success,  his  fame,  his  life,  were  all  at 
stake." — 2.  "The  roaring  of  the  wind,  the  rushing  of  the 
water,  the  darkness  of  the  night,  all  conspired  to  overwhelm 
his  guilty  spirit  with  dread." — 3.  "  Eloquence  is  action, 
noble,  sublime,  godlike  action." — 4.  "  The  shore,  which,  but 
a  few  moments  before,  lay  so  lovely  in  its  calm  serenity, 
gilded  with  the  beams  of  the  level  sun,  now  resounded  with 
the  roar  of  cannon,  the  shouts  of  battle,  the  clash  of  arms, 
the  curses  of  hatred,  the  shrieks  of  agony." 

Exception  2.    Light  and  humorous  description,  gives  the 

*  moderate '  upward  slide  to  all  the  members  of  a  series. 

Example.  "  Her  books,  her  music,  her  papers,  her  clothes, 
were  all  lying  about  the  room,  in  '  most  admired  disorder.' " 

Exception  3.  The  language  of  pathos,  (pity,)  tenderness, 
and  beauty, — whether  in  verse  or  prose, — takes  the  '  suspen- 
sive', or  slight  rising  inflection,  except  in  the  last  member  of. 
the  'commencing',  and  the  last  but  one  of  the  'concluding' 

*  series',  which  have  the  usual  '  moderate '  rising  inflection. 

Ex. :   1.   "  No  mournful  flowers,  by  weeping  fondness  laid, 

Nor  pink,  nor  rose,  drooped,  on  his  breast  displayed." 

2.   "  There  rapt  in  gratitude,  and  joy,  and  love. 

The  man  of  God  will  pass  the  Sabbath  noon." 

3.    "  There,  (in  the  grave,)  vile  insects  consume  the  hand 

of  the  artist,  the  brain  of  the  philosopher,    the    eye    which 

*  '  Penultimate '  rising  inflection,  preparatory  to  the  cadence,  or  clos- 
ing fall  of  voice,  at  the  end  of  a  sentence. 

i  'Full'  falling  intleciion,  for  the  cadence  of  a  sentence. 


36  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    1, 

sparkled  with  celestial  fire,  and  the  lip  from  which  flowed 
irresistible  eloquence." 

Note  2.  All  series,  except  the  plaintive, — as  by  their  form 
of  numbers  and  repetition,  they  partake  of  the  nature  of  *  cli- 
max', or  increase  of  signification, — should  be  read  with  a 
growing  intensity  of  voice,  and  a  more  prominent  inflection 
on  every  member.  » 

Example.  "  The  splendor  of  the  firmament,  the  verdure  of 
the  earth,  the  varied  colors  of  the  flowers  which  fill  the  air 
with  their  fragrance,  and  the  music  of  those  artless  voices 
which  mingle  on  every  tree ;  all  conspire  to  captivate  our 
hearts,  and  to  swell  them  with  the  most  rapturous  delight." 

This  remark  applies,  sometimes,  even  to  the  rising  inflec- 
tion, but,  with  peculiar  force,  to  cases  in  which  the  language 
is  obviously  meant  to  swell  progressively  in  effect,  from  word 
to  word,  or  from  clause  to  clause,  and  which  end  with  a 
downward  slide,  on  every  member,  as  in  the  following  in- 
stance. 

"  I  tell  you  ^though  you,  though  all  the  \v6rld,  though  an 
angel  ft-om  HEAVEN,  should  declare  the  truth  of  it,  I  could 
not  believe  it," 

Rule  V.  All  questions  which  cannot  be  answered  by  Yes 
or  Noy  end  with  the  falling  inflection. 

Ex.:  1.  "  When  will  you  cease  to  trifle?" 

2.  "  Where  can  his  equal  be  found  ?" 

3.  "  Who  has  the  hardihood  to  maintain  such  an   assei 
tion  ?" 

4.  "  Why  come  not  on  these  victors  proud  ?" 

5.  "  What  was  the  object  of  his  ambition  ?" 

6.  "  How  can  such  a  purpose  be  accomplished?" 
Exception.  The  tone  of  real  or  affected  surprise,   thrown 

such  questions,  when  repeated,  into  the  form  of  the  rising  in- 
flection.— Example.  "  How  can  such  a  purpose  be  accom- 
plished!— To  the  diligent  all  things  are  possible." 

Both  injiectionsy — the  Rising  and  the  Falling, — in  connexion.. 

Rule  I.  When  negation  is  opposed  to  affirmation,  the  for- 
mer has  the  rising,  the  latter  the  falling  inflection,  in  what- 
ever order  they  occur,  and  whether  in  the  same  or  in  differen' 
Bentences. 

Examples:  1.  "  He  did  not  call  me,  but  y^u." 

2.  "  He  was  esteemed  not  for  wealth,  but  for  wisdom." 

3.  "  Study  rxot  for  amiisement,  but  for  impr6vement." 


PART   I.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  37 

4.  *  He  called  y6u,  not  me." 

5.  "  He  was  esteemed  for  wisdom,  not  for  wealth." 

6.  *'  Study  for  iir.provement,  not  for  amusement." 

7.  "  This  proposal  is  not  a  mere  idle  compliment.  It  pro- 
ceeds from  the  sincerest  and  deepest  feelings  of  our  hearts." 

8.  "  Howard  visited  all  Europe,  not  to  survey  the  sump- 
tuousness  of  palaces,  or  the  stateliness  of  temples ;  not  to 
make  accurate  measurements  of  the  remains  of  ancient 
grandeur;  not  to  form  a  scale  of  the  curiosities  of  modern 
art;  not  to  collect  medals  or  collate  manuscripts;  but  to  dive 
into  the  depth  of  dungeons;  to  plunge  into  the  infection  of 
hospitals  ;  to  survey  the  mansions  of  sorrow  and  pain  ;  to 
take  the  gauge  and  dimensions  of  misery,  depression,  and 
contempt ;  to  remember  the  forgotten,  to  attend  to  the-  neglect- 
ed, to  visit  the  forsaken,  and  to  compare  and  collate  the  dis- 
tresses of  all  men  in  all  countries." 

Note.  A  similar  principle  applies  to  the  reading  of  conces- 
sions and  of  unequal  antitheses,  or  contrasts.  In  the  latter, 
the  less  important  member  has  the  rising,  and  the  preponder- 
ant one,  the  falling  inflection,  in  whatever  part  of  a  sentence 
they  occur,  and  even  in  separate  sentences. 

Example:  1.  "Science  may  raise  you  to  eminence.  But 
^rirtue  alone  can  guide  you  to  happiness." 

2.  "  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  y6u, 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men." 

Exception.  When  negation  is  emphatic  or  preponderant,  it 
takes  the  falling  inflection. — Example  1.  He  may  yield  to 
persuasion,  but  he  will  never  submit  to  force." — 2.  "  We  are 
troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed;  perplexed,  but  not 
in  despair;  persecuted,  but  not  forsaken;  cast  down,  but  not 
destroyed." 

Rule  II.  In  question  and  answer,  the  falling  inflection 
ends  as  far  below  the  average  level  of  the  sentence,  as  the 
rising  ends  above  it.  In  this  way,  a  certain  exact  corre- 
spondence of  sound  to  sound,  in  the  inflections,  is  produced, 
which  gives  to  the  full  downward  slide  of  the  answer,  a  de- 
cisive and  satisfactory  intonation,  as  a  reply  to  the  rising 
slide  of  the  question. 

Examples:  1.  "  Are  they  Hebrews? — So  am  "I.  Are  they 
Israelites  ?— So  am  ^I." 

2.  "What  would  content  you,  in  a  political  leader? — 
Talent  ?  No  !— Enterprise  ?  No  I— Courage  ?  N5  !— Repu- 
4 


3^<  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   I, 

tation  ?    N6  ! — "^  Virtue  ?    No  ! — The  man  whom  you  would 
select,  should  possess  not  one,  but  all  of  these." 

Rule  III.  When  a  question  consists  of  two  contrasted 
parts,  connected  in  syntax,  by  the  conjunction  Or^  used  in  a 
disjunctive  sense,  the  former  has  the  rising,  and  the  latter, 
the  falling  inflection. 

Ex, :   1.  "  Does  he  mean  you,  or  me  ?  " 

2.  "  Is  this  book  yours,  or  mine  ?" 

3.  "  Did  you  see  him,  or  his  brother  ?  " 

4.  "  Are  the  people  virtuous,  or  vicious ;  intelligent,  or  ig- 
norant ;  affluent,  or  indigent  ?  " 

Note.  When  Or  is  used  conjimctively^  the  second  inflec- 
tion does  not  fall,  but  rises  higher  than  the  first. — Example, 
"  Would  the  influence  of  the  Bible, — even  if  it  were  not  the 
record  of  a  divine  revelation,  be  to  render  princes  more  tyran- 
nical, or  subjects  more  ungovernable ;  the  rich  more  insolent, 
or  the  poor  more  disorderly ;  would  it  make  worse  parents, 
or  children, — husbands,  or  wives, — masters,  or  servants, — 
friends,  or  neighbors  ? — ort  would  it  not  make  men  more  vir- 
tuous,! and,  consequently,  more  happy,  in  every  situation  ?  " 

"Rvle  on  the  Circumflex^  or  Wave, 
The  circumflex,  or  wave,  applies  to  all  expressions  used  in  ~ 

a  peculiar  sense,  or  with  a  double  meaning,  and  to  the  tones 

of  mockery,  sarcasm,  and  irony. 

Examples:  1.  "You  may  avoid  a  quarrel  with  an  if." — 

•^Your  if  is  the  only  peacemaker:  much  virtue  in  an  if." 

2.  "  From  the  very  first  night, — and  to  say  it  I  'm  bold, — 
I  Ve  been  so  very  h6t,  that  I  ^m  sure  I  've  caught  cold !" 

3.  "  Go  hang  a  calfskin  on  these  recreant  limbs  !" 

4.  "  What  a  beautiful  piece  of  work  you  have  made  by 

your  carelessness !" 

5.  "  The  weights  had  never  been  accused  of  light  con- 
duct." 

Rule  on  the  Monotone, 
The  tones  of  grand  and  sublime  description,  profound  rev- 
erence, or  awe,  of  amazement  and  horror,  are  marked  by  the 
monotone,  or  perfect  level  of  voice. 

'*  In  successive  questions,  the  risings  inflection  becomes  higher  a( 
every  stage,  unless  the  last  has,  as  in  the  above  example,  the  falling  in 
flection  of  consummating  emphasis. 

f  The  last  Or  is  used  disjunctively,  and  forms  an  example  to  the 
fiaiei  and  not  to  the  Note. 


PART    1.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  39 

Note.  A  monotone  is  always  on  a  lower  pitch  than  the 
preceding  part  of  a  sentence ;  and,  to  give  the  greater  effect 
to  its  deep  solemn  note, — which  resembles  the  tolling  of  a 
heavy  bell, — it  sometimes  destroys  all  comma  pauses,  and 
keeps  up  one  continuous  stream  of  overflowing  sound. 

Exam,  1.  "  His  form  had  not  yet  lost 

All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured.     As  when  the  siin,  new-risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 
Shorn  of  his  beams,  or  from  behind  the  moon. 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sbeds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs." 

2.  "  And  I  saw  a  great  white  throne  and  HTm  that  sat  on 
it,  from  whose  face  the  heavens  and  the  earth  fled  away; 
and  there  was  found  no  place  for  them." 

3.  "  Upon  my  seciire  hour  thy  uncle  stole, 
With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  in  a  vTal, 
And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ears  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment :  w^hose  effect 
Holds  such  an  enmity  wdth  blood  of  man, 
That  swift  as  quicksilver  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body, 
And,  with  a  siidden  vigor,  it  doth  posset 
And  curd,  like  eager  droppings  into  milk, 

The  thin  and  wholesome  blood  ;  so  did  it  mine  ; 
And  a  most  instant  tetter  barked  about. 
Most  lazar-like,  with  vile  and  loathsome  crust, 
All  my  smooth  body." 

Ride  on  ^Harmmiic^  InJlectAons, 

*  HarmoiVi-i '  inflections, — or  those  which,  in  emphatic 
phrases,  are  intended  to  prevent  the  frequent  occurrence  of 
emphasis  in  the  same  phrase,  from  becoming  monotonous  to 
the  ear, — are  applied  in  clauses  of  which  every  word  is  em- 
phatic, and'is  marked  by  a  distinct  and  separate  inflection. 

Example  "  He  has  been  guilty  of  one  of  the  most  shame' 
fid  dcts  il  that  ever  degraded  \  the  nature  II  or  the  name  II 

of  MAN." 

Note.  In  such  cases  the  inflections  usually  alternate,  m 
order  to  give  the  more  vwid  and  pungent  force  to  vehemen* 
emphasis. 


40  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   b 

Ride  071  Repeated  Words j  Phrases^  and  Sentences, 

Words,  phrases,  and  sentences  which  are  repeated  for  effect, 
rise  higher,  or  fall  lower  in  inflection,  besides  increasing  in 
force,  at  every  repetition. 

Example  1.  "  From  these  walls  a  spirit  shall  go  forth,  that 
shall  survive  when  this  edifice,  shall  be  'like  an  unsubstan- 
tial pageant,  faded.'  It  shall  go  forth,  exulting  in,  but  not 
abusing,  its  strength.  It  shall  go  jorth^  remembering,  in  the 
days  of  its  prosperity,  the  pledges  it  gave  in  the  time  of  its 
depression.  It  shall  go  forth,  uniting  a  disposition  to  correct 
abuses,  to  redress  grievances.  IT  SHALL  GO  FORTH, 
uniting  the  disposition  to  improve,  with  the  resolution  to 
maintain  and  defend,  by  that  spirit  of  unbought  afTcction, 
which  is  the  chief  defence  of  nations." 

2.  *'  What  was  it,  fellow-citizens,  which  gave  to  Lafayette 
his  spotless  fame? — The  love  of  liberty.  What  has  conse- 
crated his  memory,  in  the  hearts  of  good  men  ? — The  love 
OF  LIBERTY.  What  nerved  his  youthful  arm  with  strength, 
and  inspired  him  in  the  morning;'  of  his  days,  with  sairacity 
and  counsel?— THE  LIVING  LOVE  OF  LIBERTY:  To 
what  did  he  sacrifice  power,  and  rank,  and  country,  and  free- 
dom itself?— TO  THE  LOVE  OF  LIBERTY  PRO- 
TECTED BY  law:' 


EXERCISES    ON    INFLECTIONS. 

Rising  Inflection.     Rule  I.=* — ''  High  Rising  Inflection'. — 

1.  *'  lid!  say  youio.?" 

2.  "  What ! — confer  a  crSion  on  the  author  of  the  public 
calamities  ?  " 

3.  "  hideed  I — acknowledge  a  irditor  for  our  sovereign  V* 

Rule  II.  *  Moderate  Rising  Inflection.* — Exercise  1.  "In 
every  station  which  Washington  was  called  to  fill,  he  acquit- 
ted himself  with  honor." 

2.  "  As  the  evening  was  now  far  advanced,  the  party 
broke  up."  • 

3    "  Where  your  treasure  is,  there  will  your  h^art  be  ' 
also." 

♦  The  pupil  should  repeat  each  rule  from  memory,  before  commeno 
jag  the  practice  of  the  exercises  adapted  to  it. 


I 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  41 

4.  "  Though  we  cannot  discern  the  reasons  which  regulate 
the  occurrence  of  events,  we  may  rest  assured  that  nothing 
can  happen  without  the  cognizance  of  Infinite  Wisdom." 

5.  "  Despairing  of  any  way  of  escape  from  the  perils  which 
surrounded  him,  he  abandoned  his  struggles,  and  gave  him- 
self up  to  what  seemed  his  inevitable  doom." 

6.  "  Had  I  suffered  such  enormities  to  pass  unpunished,  I 
should  have  deemed  myself  recreant  to  every  principle  of 
justice  and  of  duty." 

Note  and  Exccptio?i.  *  Words  and  phrases  of  address'. — 
Exercise.  "  Listen,  Americans,  to  the  lesson  which  seems 
Dorne  to  us  on  the  very  air  we  breathe,  while  we  perform 
ihese  dutiful  rights. — Ye  winds,  that  Avafted  the  pilgrims  to 
the  land  of  promise,  fan,  in  their  children's  hearts,  the  love 
of  freedom !  Blood  which  our  fathers  shed,  cry  from  the 
ground  ; — echoing  arches  of  this  renowned  hall,  whisper 
back  the  voices  of  other  days  ; — glorious  Washington  !  break 
the  long  silence  of  that  votive  canvass  ; — speak,  speak,  mar- 
ble lips ; — teach  us  the  love  of  liberty  protected  by 
LAW  !" 

Rule  III.    Note. — '  Poetic  Series'. — Example  1.  "  P6wer, 
vill,  sensation,  memory,  failed  in  turn." 

2    "  Oh  !  the  dread  mingling,  in  that  awful  hour, 
Of  all  terrific  sounds  I — the  savage  tone 
Of  the  wild  horn,  the  cannon's  peal,  the  shower 
Of  hissing  darts,  the  crash  of  walls  o'erthrown, 
The  deep,  dull,  tambour's  beat ! " 

3.  "  All  the  while, 

A  ceaseless  murmur  from  the  populous  town, 
Swells  o'er  these  solitudes ;  a  mingled  sound 
Of  jarring  wheels,  and  iron  hoofs  that  clash 
Upon  the  stony  ways,  and  hammer  clang, 
And  creak  of  engines  lifting  ponderous  bulks, 
And  calls  and  crles,^  and  tread  of  eager  feet 
Innumerable,  hurrying  to  and  fro." 

4.  "  Onward  still  the  remote  Pawnee  and  Mandan  will 
beckon,  whither  the  deer  are  flying,  and  the  wild  horse 
roams,  where  the  buffalo  ranges,  and  the  condor  soars, — far 
towards  the  waves  where  the  stars  plunge  at  midnight,  and 
amid  which  bloom  those  ideal  scenes  for  the  persecuted  s&v- 

*  See  foot  note  on  next  page. 
4# 


49  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOl  [PART   L 

age,  where  white  men  will  murder  no  more  for  gold,*  nor 
startle  the  game  upon  the  sunshine  hills." 

Rule  IV.  *  Questions  which  may  be  answered  by  Yes  or 
No\ — Exercise  1.  "  Has  not  the  patronage  of  p^ers  increased  ? 
Is  not  the  patronage  of  India  now  vested  in  the  crown  ?  Are 
all  these  innovations  to  be  made  to  increase  the  influence  of 
the  executive  power ;  and  is  nothing  to  be  done  in  favor  of 
the  popular  part  of  the  (*onstitution,  to  act  as  a  counterpoise?* 

2.  "  Your  steps  were  hasty  ; — did  you  speed  for  nothing? 
Your  breath  is  scanty  ; — was  it  spent  for  nothing  ? 
Your  looks  imply  concern  ; — concern  for  nothing?" 

Exception,  *  Emphasis*. — Exercise  1.  "  Tell  me  not  of 
the  honor  of  belonging  to  a  free  country. — I  ask,  does  our 
liberty  bear  ge/ieroiis  friiits  ?  " 

2.  "  Was  there  a  village  or  a  hamlet  on  Massachusetts 
Bay,  which  did  not  gather  its  hardy  seamen  to  man  the  gun- 
decks  of  your  ships  of  war  ?  Did  they  not  rally  to  the  battle, 
as  men  flock  to  a  feast  ? " 

3  "  Is  there  a  man  am^ng  you,  so  lost  to  his  dignity  and 
his  duty,  as  to  withhold  his  aid  at  a  moment  like  this  ?  " 

Rule  V.  *  Penultimate  Inflection*. — Exercise  1.  "  All  is 
doubt,  distrust,^  and  disgrace;  and,  in  this  instance,  rely  on 
It,  that  the  certain  and  fatal  result  will  be  to  make  Ireland 
hate  the  connexion,  contemn  the  councils  of  England,  and 
diespise  her  power.'* 

2.  *'  I  am  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  the  conduct  of  men,  who, 
at  this  moment,  rise  up  as  champions  of  the  East  India  Com- 
pany's charter  ;  although  the  incompetence  of  that  company 
to  an  adequate  discharge  of  the  trust  deposited  in  them,  are 
themes  of  ridicule  and  contempt  to  all  the  world  ;  and,  al- 
though, in  consequence  of  their  mismanagement,  connivance, 
and  imbecility,  combined  with  the  wickedness  of  their  ser- 
vants, the  very  name  of  an  Englishman  is  detested,  even  to 
a  proverb,  through  all  Asia ;  and  the  national  character  is  be- 
come disgraced  and  dishonored." 

3.  "  It  will  be  the  duty  of  the  historian  and  the  sage,  in  all 
ages,  to  omit  no  occasion  of  commemorating  that  illustrious 
man  ;  and,  till  time  shall  be  no  m6re,  will  a  test  of  the  pro- 
gress which  our  race  made  in  wisdom  and  in  virj,ue,  be  de- 

•  The  penultimate  inflection  of  a  concluding  series,  or  of  a  clause  that 
forms  peffecl  sense,  is  the  same  in  kind  with  that  which  precedes  a  period, 
except  in  verse  and  poetic  prose,  which,  in  long  passages  of  great  bcautv, 
retain  the  suspensive  slide. 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  43 

rived   from  the  veneration  paid   to   the   immortal  name  of 
Washington." 

Exception,  *  Emphasis'. — Exercise  1.  **  Let  us  bless  and 
hallow  our  dwellings  as  the  homes  of  freedom.  Let  us  make 
them,  too,  the  homes  of  a  nobler  freedom, — of  freedom  from 
vice,  from  evil  passion, — from  every  corrupting  bondage  of 
the  soul !  " 

2.  "  If  guilty,  let  us  calmly  abide  the  results,  and  peace- 
ably submit  to  our  sentence;  but  if  we  are  traduced,  and 
really  be  innocent,  tell  ministers  the  triith, — tell  them  they 
are  tyrants ;  and  strain  every  effort  to  avert  their  oppression. ** 

3.  "  Heaven  has  imprinted  in  the  mother's  face  something 
beyond  this  world,  something  which  claims  kindred  with  the 
skies, — the  angelic  smile,  the  tender  look,  the  waking,  watch- 
ful eye,  which  keeps  its  fond  vigil  over  her  slumbering  babe. 
— In  the  heart  of  man  lies  this  lovely  picture;  it  lives  in  his 
sympathies  ;  it  reigns  in  his  affections  ;  his  eye  looks  round, 
in  vain,  for  such  another  object  on  earth."  « 

Falling  Inflection.  Rule  I.  *  Intensive  Downward  Slide. 
Exercise  1.  "  Up  !   all  who  love  me  !  blow  on  BLOW ! 
And  lay  the  outlaiced  felons  low  !  " 

2.  *'  \Macgregor  !  MACGREGOR  !  '  he  bitterly  cried." 

3.  *'  On  !  countrymen,  ON  ! — for  the  day, — 

The  proud  day  of  glory, — is  come  !  " 

4.  "  To  Irms  !  gallant  Frenchmen,  to  ARMS  ?  " 

5.  "  Oh !  shame  on  us,  countrymen,  shame  on  us  ALL  ' 

If  we  cringe  to  so  dastard  a  race  !  " 

6.  "  Trimble,  ye  traitors  !  whose  schemes 

Are  alike  by  all  parties  abhorred, — 
TREMBLE  !  for,  roused  from  your  parricide  dreams, 
Ye  shall  soon  meet  your  fitting  reward  !  " 
Rule  II.     'Full'   Falling  Inflection,  in   the   cadence  of  a 
sentence. — Exercise  1.  "  The  changes  of  the  year  impart  a 
color  and  character  to  our  thoughts  and  feelings." 

2.  *'  To  a  lover  of  nature  and  of  wisdom,  the  vicissitude  of 
seasons  conveys  a  proof  and  exhibition  of  the  wise  and  be- 
nevolent contrivance  of  the  Author  of  all  things." 

3.  "  He  who  can  approach  the  cradle  of  sleeping  inno- 
cence without  thinking  that  '  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,'  or  see  the  fond  parent  hang  over  its  beauties,  and 
half  retain  her  breath,  lest  she  should  break  its  slumbers, — 
Without  a  veneration  beyond  all  common  feeling, — is  to  be 
avoided  in  every  intercourse  of  life,  and  is  fit  only  for  the 
shadow  of  darkness,  and  the  solitude  of  the  desert." 


44  AMERICA>    COMMQN-SCUOOL  [PART   I 

Exception,  *  Modified  Cadence'. — Exercise  1.  "  This  mon- 
ument is  a  plain  shaft.  It  bears  no,  inscription,  fronting  the 
rising  sun,  from  which  the  future  antiquarian  shall  wipe  the 
dust.  Nor  does  the  rising  sun  cause  tones  of  music  to  issue 
from  its  summit.  But  at  the  rising  of  the  sun,  and  at  the 
setting  of  the  sun,  in  the  blaze  of  noon-day,  and  beneath  the 
milder  effulgence  of  lunar  light,  it  speaks,  it  acts,  to  the  full 
comprehension  of  every  American  mind,  and  the  awakening 
of  glowing  enthusiasm  in  every  American  heart." 

2.  "  I  speak  not  to  you,  sir,  of  your  own  outcast  condition. 
— You  perhaps  delight  in  the  perils  of  martyrdom.  I  speak 
not  to  those  around  me,  who,  in  their  persons,  their  sub- 
stance, and  their  families,  have  endured  the  torture,  poverty, 
and  irremediable  dishonor.  They  may  be  meek  and  hallowed 
men, — willing  to  endure." 

3.  **  The  foundation  on  which  you  have  built  your  hopes, 
may  seem  to  you  deep  and  firm.  But  the  swelling  flood,  and 
the  howling  blast,  and  the  beating  rain,  will  prove  it  to  be  but 
treacherous  sand." 

Rule  III.  *  Moderate'  Falling  Inflection,  of  complete  sense. 
Exercise  1.  "  Animal  existence  is  made  up  of  action  and 
slumber :  nature  has  provided  a  season  for  each." 

2.  *'  Two  points  are  manifest :  first,  that  the  animal  frame 
requires  sleep ;  secondly,  that  night  brings  with  it  a  silence, 
and  a  cessation  of  activity,  which  allow  of  sleep  being  taken 
without  interruption,  and  without  loss." 

3.  "  Joy  is  too  brilliant  a  thing  to  be  confined  within  out 
own  bosoms :  it  burnishes  all  nature,  and,  with  its  vivid  col- 
oring, gives  a  kind  of  factitious  life  to  objects  without  sense 
or  motion." 

4.  "  When  men  are  wanting,  we  address  the  animal  crea- 
tion; and,  rather  than  have  none  to  partake  our  feelings,  we 
find  sentiment  in  tho  music  of  birds,  the  hum  of  insects,  and 
the  low  of  kine :  noy,  we  call  on  rocks  and  streams  and  for- 
ests, to  witness  and  share  our  emotions." 

5.  "  I  have  done  my  duty : — I  stand  acquitted  to  my  con- 
science and  my  country : — I  have  opposed  this  measure 
throughout ;  and  I  now  protest  against  it,  as  harsh,  oppress- 
ive, uncalled  for,  unjust, — as  establishing  an  infamous  prece- 
dent, by  retaliating  crime  against  crime, — as  tyrannous,- - 
criielly  and  vindictively  tyrannous." 

Exception.     *  Plaintive  Expression'. 
Exercise  1.  "  I  see  the  cloud  and  the  tempest  n^ar, 
The  voice  of  the  troubled  tide  I  h^ar ; 


PART   I.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  45 

The  torrent  of  sorrow,  the  sea  of  grief, 
The  rushing  waves  of  a  wretched  life." 
2.  '*  No  deep-mouthed  hound  the  hunter's  haunt  betrayed, 
No  lights  upon  the  shore  or  waters  played, 
No  loud  laugh  broke  upon  the  silent  air, 
To  tell  the  wanderers  man  was  nestling  there." 
3.  "  The  dead  leaves  strow  the  forest  wdlk, 
And  withered  are  the  pale  wild  flowers ; 
The  frost  hangs  blackening  on  the  stalk, 
The  dew-drops  fall  in  frozen  showers : — 
Gone  are  the  spring's  green  sprouting  bowers, 
Gone  summer's  rich  and  mantling  vines; 

And  Autumn,  Avith  her  yellow  hours, 
On  hill  and  plain  no  longer  shines." 
4.  "  What  is  human  life,  but  a  waking  dream, — a  long 
reverie, — in  which  we  walk  as  *  in  a  vain  show,  and  disquiet 
ourselves  for  naught?  '     In  childhood,  we  are  surrounded  by 
a  dim,  unconscious  present,  in  which  all  palpable   realities 
seem  for  ever  to  elude  our  grasp  ;  in  youth,  we  are  but  gazing 
into  the  far  future  of  that  life  for  which  we  are  consciously 
preparing ;  in  manhood,  we  are  lost  in  ceaseless  activity  and 
enterprise,  and  already  looking  forward  to  a  season  of  quiet 
and  repose,  in  which  we  are  to  find  ourselves,  and  listen  to  a 
voice  within  ;  and  in  old  age,  we  are  dwelling  on  the  sha- 
dows  of  the  past,"^  and  gilding  them  with  the  evanescent 
glow  which  emanates  from  the  setting  sun  of  life." 
Rule  IV.  and  Note  1.   ^Siviple  Commencing  Series,* 
Ex.  1.    "The  old  and  the  young  are  alike  exposed  to  the 
shafts  of  Death." 

2.  "  The  healthy,  the  temperate,  and  the  virtuous,  enjoy 
the  true  relish  of  pleasure." 

3.  "  Birth,  rclnk,  wealth,  learning,  are  advantages  of  slight 
value,  if  unaccompanied  by  personal  worth." 

4.  "  Gentleness,  patience,  kindness,  candor,  and  courtesy, 
form  the  elements  of  every  truly  amiable  character.'* 

5.  "  Sympathy,  disinterestedness,  magnanimity,  generos- 
ity, liberAlity,  and  self-forgetfalness,  are  qualities  which  uni' 
versally  secure  the  esteem  and  admiration  of  mankind." 

*  Compound  Commencing  Series* 

Exercise  1.  "  In  a  rich  soil,  and  under  a  soft  climate,  cho 
veeeds  of  luxury  will  spring  up  amid  the  flowers  of  art." 

*  Falling  slid?  of  contrast  to  the  preceding  clause. 


46  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   I, 

2.  "  All  the  wise  institutions  of  the  liiwgiver,  all  the  doC' 
trines  of  the  Siige,  all  the  ennobling  strains  of  the  poet,  had 
perished  in  the  ear,  like  a  dream  related,  if  letters  had  not 
preserved  them." 

3.  "  The  dimensions  and  distances  of  the  pMnets,  the 
causes  of  their  revolutions,  the  path  of  comets,  and  the  ebb- 
ing and  flowing  of  tides,  are  now  understood  and  explained." 

4.  "  The  mighty  pyramid,  half  buried  in  the  sands  of 
Africa,  has  nothing  to  bring  down  and  report  to  us,  but  the 
power  of  kings,  and  the  servitude  of  the  people.  If  asked 
for  its  m(jral  object,  its  admonition,"^  its  sentiment,  its  instruc- 
tion to  mankind,  or  any  high  end  in  its  erection,  it  is  silent; 
— silent  as  the  millions  which  lie  in  the  dust  at  its  base,  and 
in  the  catacombs  which  surround  it." 

5.  "  Yes, — let  me  be  free  ;t  let  me  go  and  come  at  my 
own  will ;  let  me  do  business,  and  make  journeys,  without  a 
vexatious  police  or  insolent  soldiery  to  watch  my  steps  ;  let 
me  think,  and  do,  and  speak,  what  I  please,  subject  to  no 
limit  but  that  which  is  set  by  the  common  weal;  subject  to 
no  law  but  that  which  conscience  binds  upon  me ;  and  I  will 
bless  my  country,  and  love  its  most  rugged  rocks,  and  its 
most  barren  soil." 

Exception  3.  *  Poetic  and  Pathetic  Series'. 
Ez,  1.  "  Wheresoe'er  thy  lot  command, 
Brother,  pilgrim,  stranger, 
God  is  ever  near  at  hand. 
Golden  shield  from  danger." 

2.  "  Ivocks  of  granite,  gates  of  brass, 
Alps  to  heaven  soaring. 

Bow,  to  let  the  wishes  pass 
Of  a  soul  imploring." 

3.  "  From  the  phantoms  of  the  night, 
Dreaming  horror,  pale  affright, 
Thoughts  which  rack  the  slumbering  breast, 

*  All  emphatic  series,  even  in  suppositive  and  conditional  expression, 
being,  like  enumeration,  cumulative  in  eflect,  and  corresponding, 
therefore,  to  climax  in  style,  are  properly  read  with  a  prevailing  down- 
ward slide  in  the  'suspensive'  or  slight  form,  which  belongs  to  incom- 
plete but  energetic  expression,  and  avoids,  accordingly,  the  low  intiec- 
lion  of  cadence  at  a  period. 

t  Emphasis,  and  length  of  clause,  may  substitute  the  'moderate 
falling  slide  for  the  slight  *  suspensive  '  one.    BiU  the  tone,  in  such  cases^ 
will  still  be  perfectly  free  from  the  descent  of  a  cadence,  which  belongs 
only  10  the  period. 


PART    I.I  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  47 

Fears  which  haunt  the  reahn  of  rest, 

And  the  wounded  mind's  remorse, 

And  the  tempter's  secret  force, 

Hide  us  'neath  Thy  mercy's  shade." 
4.  "  From  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  the  flowers  of  earth, 
From  the  pageant  of  power,  and  the  voice  of  mirth. 
From  the  mist  of  the  morn  on  the  mountain's  br6w, 
From  childhood's  song,  and  affections  vow ; 
From  all  save  that  o'er  which  soul  ^  bears  sway. 
There  breathes  but  one  record, — '  passing  away  ! '  " 

5.  *'  When  the  summer  exhibits  the  whole  force  of  active 
nature,  and  shines  in  full  beauty  and  splendor ;  when  the 
succeeding  season  offers  its  '  purple  stores  and  golden  grain,' 
or  displays  its  blended  and  softened  tints ;  when  the  winter 
puts  on  its  ouilen  aspect,  and  brings  stillness  and  repose,  af- 
fording a  lespite  from  the  labors  w^hich  have  occupied  the 
precedmg  months,  inviting  us  to  reflection,  and  compensating 
for  the  wane  of  attractions  abroad,  by  fireside  delights  and 
home-felc  joys  ;  in  all  this  interchange  and  variety,  we  find 
reason  to  acknowledge  the  wise  and  benevolent  care  of  the 
God  ot  seasons." 

6.  **  in  that  solemn  hour,  when  exhausted  nature  can  no 
longer  sustam  itself,  when  the  light  of  the  eye  is  waxing  dim, 
when  the  pai>5e  of  life  is  becoming  low  and  faint,  when  the 
breath  labors,  and  the  tongue  falters,  when  the  shadow  of 
death  is  faliiiig  on  all  outward  things,  and  darkness  is  begm- 
ning  to  gatner  over  the  faces  of  the  loved  ones  who  are  weep- 
ing Dy  his  bed.side,  a  ray  of  immortal  Hope,  is  beaming  from 
his  features :  it  is  a  Christian  who  is  expiring." 

Note  2. — Exercise  1.  '  Eepeated  and  heightening  Rising 
Inflection'.  "  I  ask,  will  you  in  silence  permit  this  invasion 
of  your  rights,  at  once  wanton,  mischievous,  uncalled  for, 
and  unnecessary  ?  Will  you  patiently  tolerate  the  annihila- 
tion of  all  freedom, — the  appointment  of  a  supreme  dictator, 
who  may,  at  his  will,  suspend  all  your  rights,  liberties,  and 
privileges?  Will  you,  witbnn^  o  -^--rmur  of  dissent,  submit 
to  a  tyranny  which  nearly  equals  that  of  the  Russian  auto- 
crat, and  is  second  to  that  of  Bonaparte"^  ?" 

2.  ^  Repeated  and  increasing  Falling  Inflection  M     "  Was 

*  The  inflection  of  any  clause  always  lies  on  the  emphatic  word ; 
and,  if  that  word  is  a  polysyllable,  on  the  accented  syllable'  chiefly,  al- 
though not  always  exclusively. 

t  This  inflection  both  begins  higher,  and  ends  lower,  every  time  it  if 
repeated. 


4S  AMERICAN    CX)MMON-SCHOOL  [PART   L 

it  the  winter's  st6rm,  beatingr  upon  the  houseless  heads  of  wo- 
men and  children  ;  was  it  hard  labor  and  spare  meals  ; — was 
it  disease,— ^was  it  the  tomahawk;  was  it  the  deep  malady  of 
a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined  enterprise,  and  a  broken  heart ; — 
was  it  some,  or  all  of  these  united,  that  hurried  this  forsaken 
company  to  their  melancholy  fate  ?  " 

3.  "  Yes,  after  he  has  destroyed  my  belief  in  the  superin- 
tending providence  of  God, — after  he  has  taught  me  that  the 
prospect  of  an  hereafter  is  but  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision, 
— after  he  has  bred  and  nourished  in  me  a  contempt  for  that 
sacred  volume  which  alone  throws  light  over  this  benighted 
world, — after  having  argued  me  out  of  my  faith  by  his  soph- 
istries, or  laughed  me  out  of.it  by  his  ridicule, — after  having 
thus  wrung  from  my  soul  every  drop  of  consolation,  and 
dried  up  my  very  spirit  within  me ;— r-yes,  after  having  ac- 
complished this  in  the  season  of  my  health  and  my  prosper- 
ity, the  skeptic  would  come  to  me  while  I  mourn,  and  treat 
me  like  a  drivelling  idiot,  whom  he  may  sport  with,  because 
he  has  ruined  me,  and  to  whom,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  com- 
passion,— too  late,  and  too  unavailing, — he  may  talk  of  truths 
in  which  he  himself  does  not  believe,  and  which  he  has  long 
exhorted  me,  and  has  at  last  persuaded  me,  to  cast  away  as 
the  dreams  and  delusions  of  human  folly." 

Siviple  Concluding    Series. 

Exercise  1.  "  It  is  a  subject  interesting  alike  to  the  old,  and 
to  the  young." 

2.  "  Nature,  by  the  very  disposition  of  her  elements,  has 
commanded,  as  it  were,  and  imposed  upon  men,  at  moderate 
intervals,  a  general  intermission  of  their  toils,  their  occupa- 
tions, and  their  pursuits." 

3.  "  The  influence  of  true  religion,  is  mild,  and  soft,  and 
noiseless,  and  constant,  as  the  descent  of  the  evening  dew 
on  the  tender  herbage,  nourishing  and  refreshing  all  the  ami- 
able and  social  virtues ;  but  enthusiasm  is  violent,  si'idden 
rattling  as  a  summer  sbAwer  rooting  up  the  fairest  flowers 
and  washing  away  the  richest  mould,  in  the  pleasant  gardei 
of  society." 

Compound  Concluding  Series, 
Exercise  1.  "  The  winter  of  the  good  man's  a<^e  is  cheered 

with  pleasing  reflections  on  tlie  past,  and  bright  hopes  of  the 

future." 

2.  "  It  was  a  moment  replete  with  jcjy,  amazement'  and 

anxiety." 


PART   I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  49 

3.  *'  Nothing  would  tend  more  to  remove  apologies  for  in- 
attention to  religion,  than  a  fair,  impartial,^nd  full  ace  omit 
of  the  educiition,  the  chilracters,  the  intellectupJ  processes, 
and  the  dying  moments  of  those  who  offer  them." 

4.  "  Then  it  would  be  seen,  that  they  had  gained  by  their 
skepticism  no  new  pl(^asures,  no  tranquillity  of  mind,  no 
peace  of  conscience  during  life,  and  no  consolation  in  the 
hour  of  death." 

5.  "  Well-doing  is  the  cause  of  a  just  sense  of  elevation  of 
character ;  it  clears  and  strengthens  the  spirits ;  it  gives  high- 
er reaches  of  thought ;  it  widens  our  benevolence,  and  makes 
the  current  of  our  peculiar  affections  swift  and  deep." 

6.  "  A  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the  ocean, 
was  sometimes  a  theme  of  speculation. — How  interesting  this 
fragment  of  a  world,  hastening  to  rejoin  the  great  mass  of 
existence  !  What  a  glorious  monument  of  human  invention, 
that  has  thus  triumphed  over  wind  and  wAve ;  has  brought 
the  ends  of  the  earth  in  communion ;  has  established  an  in- 
terchange of  blessings,  pouring  into  the  sterile  regions  of  the 
north  all  the  luxuries  of  the  south^ ;  diffused  the  light  of 
knowledge,  and  the  charities  of  cultivated  life ;  and  has  thus 
bound  together  those  scattered  portions  of  the  human  race,  be- 
tween which  nature  seemed  to  have  thrown  an  insurmount- 
able barrier ! " 

Exception  1. — '  Disconnected  Series'. — Exercise  1.  "Youth, 
iU  the  fulness  of  its  spirits,  defers  religion  to  the  sobriety  of 
manhood  ;  manhood,  encumbered  with  cares,  defers  it  to  the 
leisure  of  old  age  ;  old  age,  weak  and  hesitating,  is  unable  to 
enter  on  an  untried  mode  of  life." 

2.  "  Let  me  prepare  for  the  approach  of  eternity ;  let  me 
give  up  my  soul  to  meditation  ;  let  solitude  and  silence  ac- 
quaint me  with  the  mysteries  of  devotion  ;  let  me  forget  the 
world,  and  by  the  world  be  forgotten,  till  the  moment  arrives 
in  which  the  veil  of  eternity  shall  fall,  and  I  shall  be  found 
at  the  bar  of  the  Almighty." 

3.  "  Religion  will  grow  up  with  you  in  youth,  and  grow 
old  with  you  in  age  ;  it  will  attend  you,  with  peculiar  plea- 
sure, to  the  hovels  of  the  poor,  or  the  chamber  of  the  sick ;  it 
will  retire  with  you  to  your  closet,  and  watch  by  your  bed,  or 
walk  with  you,  in  gladsome  union,  to  the  house  of  G6d ;  it 
will  follow  you  beyond  the  confines  of  the  world,  and  dwell 
with  you  for  ever,  in  heaven,  as  its  native  residence." 

*  Accidental  '  falling '  inflection,  for  contrast. 
5 


•0  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   I. 

V        *  Emphatic  Series'. — Exercise  1.  "  Assemble  in  your  par- 

i>hps.  vill;iL(s,  and  hamlets.     Resolve, — petition, — address.'' 

2.  ''  This  monument  will  speak  of  patriotism  and  courage ; 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty ;  of  free  government ;  of  the 
moral  improvement  and  elevation  of  mankind  ;  and  of  the 
immortal  memory  of  those  who,  wnth  heroic  devotion,  have 
sacrificed  their  lives  for  their  country." 

3.  ''I  have  roamed  through  the^ world,  to  find  hearts  no- 
where warmer  than  those  of  New  England,  soldiers  nowhere 
braver,  patriots  nowhere  purer,  wives  and  mothers  nowlierc 
truer,  maidens  nowhere  lovelier,  green  valleys  and  bright 
rivers  nowhere  greener  or  brighter ;  and  I  will  not  be  silent, 
f^^hen  I  hear  her  patriotism  or  her  truth  questioned  with  so 
much  as  a  whisper  of  detraction." 

4.  "  What  is  the  most  odious  species  of  tyranny  ?     That  a 
handful  of  men,  free   themselves,   should  execute   the  most 
base  and  abominable  despotism  over  millions  of  their  fellow- 
creatures  ;  that  innocence  should  be  the  victim  of  oppression  ; 
that  industry  should  toil  for  rapine ;  that  the  harmless  laborer 
should  sweat,  not  for  his  own  benefit,  but  for  the  luxury  and 
rapacity  of  tpannic  depredation : — in  a  word,  that  thirty  mil 
lions  of  men,  gifted  by  Providence  with  the  ordinary  endow 
ments  of  humanity,  should  groan  under  a  system  of  despot 
ism,  unmatched  in  all  the  histories  of  the  world." 

Exception  3. — '  Poetic  Series'. 
Ex.  1.  '*  He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad. 
And  sheds  the  shining  day,  that  burnished  plays 
On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  tow^ers,  and  wandering  streams, 
Highrgleaming  from  afar." 

2.  "  Round  thy  beaming  car. 
High-seen,  the  Seasons  lead,  in  sprightly  dance 
Harmonious  knit,  the  rosy-fingered  Hours, 
The  Zephyrs  floating  loofsc,  the  timely  Rains, 
Of  bloom  ethereal,  the  light-footed  Dews, 
And,  softened  into  joy,  the  surly  Storms." 

3.  *'  Hear  him  compare  his  happier  lot,  with  his 
Who  bends  his  way  across  the  wintery  wolds, 
A  poor  night-traveller,  while  the  dismal  snow 
Beats  in  his  face,  and  dubious  of  his  paths, 
He  stops  and  thinks,  in  every  lengthening  blast, 
H(?  hears  some  village  mastiff's  distant  howl, 
And  sees  far  streaming,  some  lone  cottage  light; 
Then,  undeceived,  upturns  his  streaming  eyes, 
K\A  clasps  his  shivering  hands,  or,  overpowered 


PART  I.]  READER  AND  SPEAKER.  61 

Sinks  on  the  frozen  ground,  weighed  down  with  sleep, 
From  which  the  hapless  wretch  shall  never  wake.** 

4.  "  There  was  neither  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  field,  nor 
h6use,  nor  living  creatures,  nor  visible  remnant  of  what  hu- 
man hands  had  reared.'* 

5.  "  And  I,  creature  of  clay,  like  those  here  cast  around, 
I  travel  through  life,  as  I  do  on  this  road,  with  the  remains 
of  past  generations  strewed  along  my  trembling  path  ;  and, 
whether  my  journey  last  a  few  hours  more  or  less,  must  still, 
like  those  here  deposited,  shortly  rejoin  the  silent  tenants  of 
some  cluster  of  tombs,  and  be  stretched  out  by  ihe  side  of 
some  already  sleeping  corpse." 

Rule  V. — [No  separate  exercises  on  this  rule  are  deemed  nece&- 
eary ;  as  it  is  so  fully  illustrated  in  the  examples  to  the  rule.] 

Both  Injiections^  in  connexion. 

Rule  I. — Exercise  1.  *'  It  is  not  a  parchment  pedigree, — it 
is  not  a  name  derived  from  the  ashes  of  dead  men,  that  make 
the  only  charter  of  a  king.  Englishmen  were  but  slaves,  if, 
in  giving  crown  and  sceptre  to  a  mortal  like  ourselves,  we 
ask  not,  in  return,  the  kingly  virtues." 

2.  "  The  true  enjoyments  of  a  reasonable  being  do  not 
consist  in  unbounded  indulgence,^  or  luxurious  ease,  in  the 
tumult  of  passions,  the  languor  of  indolence,  or  the  flutter  of 
light  amusements.  Yielding  to  immoral  pleasures  corrupts 
the  mind  ;  living  to  animal  and  trifling  ones,  debases  it : 
both,  in  their  degree,  disqualify  it  for  genuine  good,  and  con- 
sign it  over  to  wretchedness." 

3.       "  What  constitutes  a  state  ? — 

Not  high  raised  battlements,  or  labored  m6und, 

Thick  wall,  or  moated  gate  ; 
Not  cities  proud,  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned, 

Not  bc<ys  and  broad -armed  ports, 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  proud  navies  ride ; 

Not  starred  and  spangled  courts, — 
Where  low-browed  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride ! 
No  I — men, — high-minded  men, — 
Men  who  their  duties  know. 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain." 
Note.     *  Concession  and  Unequal  Antithesis.* 
Ex.  "  The  clouds  of  adversity  may  darken  over  the  Christian's 

♦  The  pen'ilnraate  inflection  falls,  when  a  sentence  ends  with  the  ris- 
ing slide 


S2  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnoOL  [PART   L 

p4lh.     But  he  can  look  up  with  filial  trust  to  the  guardian 
care  of  a  beneficent  Father." 

2.  "  1  admit  that  the  Greeks  excelled  in  acuteness  and  ver- 
satility of  mind.  But,  in  the  firm  and  manly  traits  of  the 
Roman  character,  I  see  something  more  noble, — more  worthy 
of  admiration." 

3.  "  We  war  against  the  leaders  of  evil, — not  against  the 
helpless  tools :  we  war  against  our  oppressors, — not  against 
our  misguided  brethren." 

"4.  "  Still,  still,  for  ever 

Better,  though  each  man's  life  blood  were  a  river, 
That  it  should  flow,  and  overflow,  than  creep 
Through  thousand  lazy  channels  in  our  veins. 
Dammed,  like  the  dull  canal,  with  locks  and  chains, 
And  moving,  as  a  sick  man  in  his  sleep. 
Three  paces,  and  then  faltering  :  better  be 
Where  the  extinguished  Spartans  still  are  free, 
In  their  proud  charnel  of  Thermopylae, 
Than  stagnate  in  our  marsh." 

Exception.     *  Emphatic  Negation '. 

Exercise  1.  "I  '11  keep  them  all ; 

He  shall  not  have  a  Sc6t  of  them ; 
N6,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not." 

2.  "  Do  not  descend  to  your  graves  with  the  disgraceful 
censure,  that  you  suflfered  the  liberties  of  your  country  to  be 
taken  aw^y,  and  that  you  were  mutes  as  well  as  cowards. 
Come  forward,  like  men :  protest  against  this  atrocious  at- 
tempt." 

3.  "  I  am  not  sounding  the  trumpet  of  w^r  There  is  no 
man  who  more  sincerely  deprecates  its  calamities,  than  I 
do." 

4.  **  Rest  assured  that,  in  any  case,  we  shall  not  be  willing 
to  rank  last  in  this  generous  contest.  You  may  depend  on 
us  for  whatever  heart  or  hand  can  do,  in  so  noble  a  cause." 

5.  "  I  will  cheerfully  concede  every  reasonahle  demand,  for 
the  sake  of  peace.     But  I  will  not  submit  to  dictation." 

Rule  II.  *  Question  and  Answer\ — Exercise  1.  "Do  you 
think  these  yells  of  hostility  will  be  forgotten  ? — Do  you  sup- 
pose their  echo  will  not  reach  the  plains  of  my  injured  and 
insulted  country,  that  they  will  not  be  whispered  in  her  green 
valleys,  and  heard  from  her  lofty  hills  ? — Oh !  they  tvill  be 
heard  there  : — yes,  and  they  Avill  not  be  forgotten." 

2.  "  I  will  say,  what  have  any  classes  of  you,  in  Ireland,  to 
hope  from  the  French  ?     Is  it  your  property  you  wish  to  pre- 


PART   I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  53 

serve  ? — Look  to  the  example  of  Holland  ;  and  see  how  that 
nation  has  preserved  its  property  by  an  alliance  with  the 
French  !  Is  it  independence  you  court  ? — Look  to  the  exam- 
ple of  unhappy  Switzerland :  see  to  what  a  state  of  servile 
abasement  that  once  manly  territory  has  fallen,  under  France  ! 
Is  it  to  the  establishment  of  Catholicity  that  your  hopes  are 
directed  ? — The  conduct  of  the  First  Consul,  in  subverting 
the  power  and  authority  of  the  Pope,  and  cultivating  the 
friendship  of  the  Mussuhnan  in  Egypt,  under  a  boast  of  that 
subversion,  proves  the  fallacy  of  such  a  reliance. — Is  it  civil 
liberty^  you  require? — Look  to  France  itself,  crouching  un- 
der despotism,  and  groaning  beneath  a  system  of  slavery,  un- 
paralleled by  whatever  has  disgraced  or  insulted  any  nation." 
3.  "  Shall  I  be  left  forgotten,  in  the  dust, 

When  Fate,  relenting,  lets  the  flower  revive  ? 
Shall  Nature's  voice, — to  man  alone  unjust, — 

Bid  him,  though  doomed  to  perish,  hope  to  live  ? 

Is  it  for  this  fair  Virtue  oft  must  strive 
With  disappointment,  penury,  and  pain  ? 

No  :  Heaven's  immortal  spring  shall  yet  arrive, 

And  man's  majestic  beauty  bloom  again, 
Bright  through  the  eternal  year  of  Love's  triumphant  reign." 
Rule  III.  'Disjunctive  *' Or'". — Exercise  1,  "  Will  you  rise 
like  men,  and  firmly  assert  your  rights,  or  will  you  tamely 
submit  to  be  trampled  on  ?  " 

2.  "  Did  the  Romans,  in  their  boasted  introduction  of  civil- 
ization, act  from  a  principle  of  humane  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  the  world  ?  Or  did  they  not  rather  proceed  on  the  greedy 
and  selfish  policy  of  aggrandizing  their  own  nation,  and  ex- 
tending its  dominion  ?  " 

3.  "  Do  virtuous  habits,  a  high  standard  of  morality,  pro- 
ficiency in  the  arts  and  embellishments  of  life,  depend  upon 
physical  formation,  or  the  latitude  in  which  we  are  placed? 
— t  Do  they  not  depend  upon  the  civil  and  religious  institu- 
tions which  distinguish  the  country  ? " 

[The  remaining  rules  on  *  inflection,'  as  they  arc  of  less 
frequent  application,  are  thought  to  be  sufficiently  illustrated 
by  the  examples  appended  to  each  rule.  A  repetition  of  these, 
however,  may  be  useful,  as  an  exercise  in  review.] 

♦  In  paragraphs  constructed  like  the  above,  the  successive  questions 
rise  one  above  another,  in  inflection,  so  as  at  last  to  reach  a  very  high 
note. 

t  The  above  rule  applies  to  cases  in  which  the  conjunction  Or  is,  or 
oiay  be,  unde>'stood. 


64                                    AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAET   U 

^    IX. JUST    STRESS. 

The  next  characteristic  of  good  reading  and  speaking,  is 
just  *  stress*.  This  word, — as  used  by  Dr.  Rush,  in  his  Phi- 
losophy of  the  voice, — is  meant  to  designate  a  peculiar  modi- 
fication of  force,  which  distinguishes  speech  from  music.  A 
long  drawn  musical  sound  has  its  most  forcible  part, — in  con- 
sequence of  *  swell'  and  'diminish', — at  the  middle  portion  of 
the  note.  The  tones  of  speech  on  the  contrary, — although, 
in  a  few  cases,  they  approach  to  this  mode  of  vo^ce, — usually 
have  the  chief  force  of  each  sound  at  the  opening  or  the  clos- 
ing part.  In  music,  the  increase  of  force  is,  comparatively, 
gradual  ;  in  speech  and  reading,  it  is  frequently  abrupt.  To 
these  distinctive  modes  of  voice  the  term  'stress'  is  applied. 

To  understand  the  application  of  this»term,  in  detail,  it  hecomci 
necessary  to  advert  to  the  mode  of  creating  vocal  sounds.  In  vocal 
music,  the  result  is  obtained  by  full  '  inspiration',  (inhaling  or  draw- 
ing in  the  breath,)  and,  comparatively  slight  '  ex  piratical',  (giving 
forth  tlie  breath.)  In  this  mode,  much  breath  is  drawn  in,  much  re- 
tained, or  withheld,  and  little  given  out  at  a  time  ;  and  thus  are  pro- 
duced those  smooth,  pure,  and  gradually  increasing  tones,  which  are 
appropriate  to  music, — all  the  breath  that  is  given  forth,  being  con- 
verted into  sound,  and  none  escaping,  that  is  not  vocalized.  lu  notes 
of  ve^'y  short  duration,  singing  and  speech  are,  it  is  true,  brought 
nearer  to  a  resemblance.  But  this  resemblance  is  more  apparent  than 
real ;  at.  may  be  observed  in  the  execution  of  every  good  singer, 
which,  iL  the  most  rapid  passages,  still  produces  the  genuine  effect 
of  song,  ai^  differing  from  speech.  The  resemblance  is  owing  soleljr 
to  the  brevity  of  sound,  in  such  cases,  which  does  not  afford  time  foi 
broad  and  marked  distinctions  to  be  dra\vii  by  the  ear. 

The  modes  of  voice  which  constitute  speech,  or  are  exem 
plified  in  reading,  are  the  following : 

I.  Radical  Stress.  This  form  of  force  includes  two  modes, 
— 'explosion'  and  'expulsion'. 

1.  'Explosion'  is  an  abrupt  and  instantaneous  burst  of 
voice, — as,  for  example,  in  violent  anger. 

This,  being  an  instinctive,  unconscious,  involuntary,  impulsive 
emotion,  does  not  allow  time  or  disposition  for  any  intentional  or  de- 
liberate eflfect,  but  makes  the  creation  of  vocal  sound  seem  an  irre- 
pressible, spontaneous,  electric  production  of  nature,  lying  equally 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  understanding  and  the  will.  This  tone  has 
its  contrast  in  the  deep,  calm,  and  regular  swell  of  the  tone  of  rev- 
erence^ or  the  ample  volume,  and  deliberate  force,  of  conscious 
Guthority  and  coinniand,  in  which  the  speaker  is  self-possessed  and 
self-directed,  and  controls  his  vocal  eflxjcts  for  purpjses  u/iderstood 
oi  felt. 


PART    I.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  55 

Contrast,  for  instance,  the  following   angry   shout  of  Douglas 
when  enraged  by  the  deiiance  of  Marinion,  with  the  examples  of 
reverential  invocation  and  authoritative  command^  which  occur  in  sub- 
sequent paragraphs. 

Example  of  ^Explosion\ 

"Up  drawbridge  !  groom  !     What,  warder,  HO  ! 
Let  the  portcullis  fall  ! " 

The  sounds  of  all  the  accented  vowels,  in  this  style,  fall  upon  the 
ear  with  an  instantaneous,  clear,  sharp,  abrupt,  and  cutting  force,  at 
the  initial  or  '  radical'  part  of  each. 

2.  *  Expulsion', — a  conscious,  intentional,  and  deliberate 
force,  coming  upon  the  ear  with  great  power ;  as,  for  example, 
in  the  language  of  authoritative  command. 

Example  of  ^Expulsion  \ 

"Vanguard  !  to  right  and  left  the  front  unfold!" 

In  this  style,  bold  and  forcible  as  it  is,  and  even  sudden  as  is  its 
commencement,  the  accented  vowels  do  not  startle  the  ear  with  the 
abrupt  shock  of  the  tone  of  anger,  exemplified  above.  There  is  a 
partial,  though  very  brief,  swell,  perceptible,  in  the  *  radical',  oi  in- 
itia,!  part,  of  each  sound. — Both  of  the  preceding  examples  are 
classed  under  the  head  of  *  radical '  stress  ;  as  their  chief  force  lies 
in  tiie  'radical',  or  first  part  of  each  sound. 

II.   Median   Stress.    This  mode  of  force  is  exhibited  in, 

1.  'Effusion', — a  moderate,  gentle,  and  gradual  swelling 
of  tone, — as,  for  example,  in  the  calm  and  tranquil  utterance 
of  reverential  feelings  in  which  no  disturbing  impulse  agitates 
or  forces  out  the  breath,  but  the  voice,  somewhat  as  in  music, 
glides  out,  with  a  smooth  effusive  stream  of  sound,  enlarging 
as  it  flows,  but  never  bursting  out  into  irregular  violence. 

Example  of  ^  Effusion  \  '«jyi 

"But  cbiefly  Thou,  0  Spirit !  that  dost  prefer,  ffj^ 

Before  all  temples,  the  upright  heart  and  pure, 
Instruct  me,  for  Thou  know'st." 

The  '  effusive'  style  avoids  every  thing  abrupt  or  sudden  in  the 
formation  of  sound,  and  swells  gradually  to  its  'acm^',  (chief  point,) 
at  the  middle  of  each  sound, — in  the  manner  of  music ;  and  from 
this  point  'diminishes',  or  decreases,  to  the  close.  This  species  of 
'stress'  is  accordingly  denominated  'median', — from  the  word  me- 
tliuniy  or  middle. 

2.  'Suppression', — a  powerful  force  of  'explosion'  or  *  ex- 
pulsion', kept  down,  in  the  very  act  of  giving  forth  the  voice, 
and  converted  into  the  'median'  form,  as  in  the  case  of  a  per- 
son communicating,  in  great  earnestness  of  feeling,  with  an- 


66  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   h 

oiher,  standing  at  a  distance,  and  yet  exceedingly  anxious  not 
to  be  heard  by  a  third  person,  siill  farther  off, — or,  as  in  the 
tone  of  extreme  earnestness,  uttered  by  the  watcher  in  the 
cliamber  of  a  sick  person. 

Examples  of  *  Suppression  \ 

1.  *'  Hark  !  James,  listen  !  for  I  must  not  speak  loud.  I  dc 
not  wish  John  to  hear  what  I  am  saying ! " 

2.  **  Step  softly  !  speak  low  !  make  no  noise  ! " 

This  mode  of  voice  may  be  termed  a  *  half  whisper';  it  is  the  *  as- 
pirated' and  *  impure'  tone,  which  lies  halfway  between  the  ordinary 
tone  of  the  voice  and  a  whisper.  It  is  caused  by  allowing  a  vast 
qrantity  of  breath,  not  *  vocalized',  to  rush  out  aU)ng  with  the  sound 
of  the  voice.  It  is,  in  fact,  *  explosion',  or  *  expulsion',  merged,  as 
it  were,  or  drowned,  in  a  stream  of '  aspiration',  and  made  to  assume 
Ihu  style  of  *  median  stress' 

III.  Vanishing  Stress.  Besides  the  *  radical',  or  initial, 
and  the  *  median',  or  middle,  *  stress',  there  is  also  a  *  vanish- 
ing', or  final  '  stress',  which  begins  softly,  swells  onward,  and 
bursts  out  suddenly,  and  leaves  off  abruptly,  at  the  very  close 
of  a  sound,  as  in  the  jerking  termination  of  the  tone  of  itn* 
patient  feeling. 

Thus,  in  the  language  of  maddened  impatience,  as  uttered  by 
Queen  Constance,  in  her  frenzy  of  grief  and  disappointment,  at  the 
overthrow  of  all  her  hopes  for  her  son,  in  consequence  of  the  peace 
formed  between  France  and  England  : 

Example  of  *  Vanishing  Stress  \ 

"War!  war  ! — no  peace  :  peace  is  to  me  a  war!" 

In  tones  of  this  class,  the  voice  w^ithholds  its  force,  and  delays  the 
explosion  or  expulsion,  till  the  last  moment  of  the  emphatic  sound, 
and  then  throws  it  out  with  an  abrupt,  wrenching  force,  which  re- 
sembles that  of  a  stone  suddenly  jerked  from  the  hand.  This 
species  of  stress,  as  it  lies  at  the  *  vanish',  or  last  point,  of  a  sound, 
is  termed  *  vanishing  stress'. 

IV.  Compound  Stress.  The  designation  of  *  compound 
stress*,  is  applied  to  that  mode  of  forming  tones,  which 
throws  out  the  force  of  the  voice  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
mark,  with  great  precision,  the  *  radical'  and  the  *  vanish',  or 
the  beginning  and  the  end,  of  each  accented  or  emphatic 
sound. 

Thus,  in  the  tone  of  surprise ^  which  is  marked  by  a  bold,  *  upward 
slide',  beginning  very  low,  and  ending  very  hip^h,  the  voice  strikes 
with  peculiar  force  on  the  first  and  last  points  of  the  slide,  in  ordei 
to  stamp  it  more  distinctly  on  the  ear,  as  the  vehicle  of  intense  emo- 
tion.    A  striking  example  again  occurs  in  the  language  of  Queeo 


n 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  Bi 

Constance,  in  tlie  situation  mentioned  before,  when  overwhelmed 
with  astonishment  at  tlie  news  she  has  just  received. 

Example  of  '■  Compound  Stress  \ 

*'  Gone  to  be  married  !  gone  to  swear  a  peace  ! 
Gone  to  be  friends  ! " 

V.  Thorough  Stress.  This  designation  is  applied  to  that 
species  of  force,  which  marks  all  the  forms  of  '  stress',  *  radi- 
cal', *  median',  and  *  vanishing',  with  intense  power,  on  the 
same  sound ;  so  as  to  cause  the  character  of  all  to  be  deeply 
felt,  as  in  a  bold  shout^  or  any  other  very  impressive  form  of 
voice,  which  indicates  intense  emotion. 

Example  of  *  Thorough  Stress  \ 
"  Awake  !  arise  !  or  be  for  ever  fallen  ! " 
In  this  shout  of  the  arch-fiend  to  his  fallen  host,  the  tone,  it  will 
5e  perceived,  is  not  that  of  mere  volume  or  quantity,  of  mere  loud- 
ness or  physical  force,  as  in  the  mechanical  act  of  calling,  or  the 
voice  of  a  public  crier.  It  has  the  wide  '  falUng  inflection'  of  author- 
tty  and  command,  and  the  forcible  '  radical'  stress  and  'expulsive'  ut- 
terance of  courage;  and  to  preserve  the  effect  of  all  these,  it  must 
not  only  begin  and  close  vividly,  but  exhibit  a  *  median'  *  swell',  and 
a  distinct  '  vanish'.  It  must,  in  other  words,  give  distinctive  force 
and  character  to  the  beginning,  the  middle,  and  the  end  of  each  ac- 
cented sound. 

VI.  Intermittent  Stress,  or  Tremor.  The  *  tremor', 
(trembling,)  or  *  intermittent'  stress,  takes  place  in  the  utter- 
ance of  all  those  emotions  which  enfeeble  the  voice,  by  their 
overpowering  effect  on  feeling ;  as,  for  example,  in  fear  and 
grief  and  sometimes  joy,  when  extreme.  This  mode  of  ut- 
terance characterizes,  also,  the  feeble  voice  of  age,  or  the  tone 
of  a  person  shivering  with  cold. 

Examples  of  the  former  will  be  found  in  the  section  on  'Expressive 
Tones'.  Of  the  latter  we  have  instances  in  the  language,  both  of 
the  old  woman  and  the  farmer,  in  Wordsworth's  ballad,  *  Goody 
BLake  and  Harry  Gill'. 

Examples  of  Tremor, 

1.  "  She  prayed,  her  withered  hand  uprearing, 
While  Harry  held  her  by  the  arm, — 

rrp  -I  1  '  God  !  ivho  art  never  out  of  hearings 

X    ■  -•  (  Oh  I  may  he  never  more  he  warm  V  " 

2.  "No  word  to  any  man  he  utters, 
Abed  or  up,  to  young  or  old  ; 
But  ever  to  himself  he  mutters, 

\tr^         'Poor  Harry  Gill  is  very  cold  .''" 


58  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   1. 

The  following  characters  may  be  used  to  express  the  different  forim 
of '  stress* : 

*  Explosive  radicar,   [>•  *  Expulsive  radicaP,    C> 
'Median',                  <>         *  Vanishing',  <] 

*  Compound',  \X\        *  Thorough',  <> 

•Tremor', 


^    X. EXPRESSIVE    TONES. 

The  word  'tone',  in  elocution,  may  be  used,  as  in  music  to 
sig'nify  the  interval  which  exists  in  successive  sounds  of  the 
voice,  as  they  occur  in  the  gamut,  or  musical  scale.  But  it 
is  commonly  used  as  eiiuivalent,  nearly,  to  the  term  *  expres- 
sion', in  music,  by  whicK  is  meant  the  mode  of  voice  as 
adapted,  or  not  adapted,  to  feeling.  Thus  we  speak  of  the 
'  tones '  of  passion, — of  a  '  false '  tone, — of  a  *  school '  tone. 

Ever}''  tone  of  the  voice  implies,  1.  a  certain  *  force',  or 
quantity',  of  sound; — 2.  a  particular  'note*,  or  'pitch'; — 
3.  a  given  'time',  or  ' movement ';— 4.  a  peculiar 'stress '; — 
5.  a  special  'quality',  or  character  ; — 6.  a  predominatiag  'in- 
flection'.    Thus,  the  tone  of  aive,  has  a  *  very  soft  force',  a 

*  very  low  pitch',  a  'very  slow  movement',  'median  stress', 
and  'pectoral  quality',  or  that  deep  murmuring  resonance, 
which  makes  the  voice  seem  as  it  were  partially  mulTled  in 
the  chest,  together  with  a  partial  'monotone',  prevailing  -^t 
the  opening  of  every  clause,  and  every  sentence.  All  these 
properties  belong  to  the  natural  utterance  of  awe  ;  take  away 
any  one,  and  the  effect  of  emotion  is  lost, — the  expression 
sounds  deficient  to  the  ear. 

[xx]        Example  1.    "  The  bell  |  strikes  |  one. — Wc  take 

[oo]  no  note  of  time, 

[  =  ]    But  from  its  loss  :  to  give  it,  then,  a  tongue, 
[m.s,]  Is  wise  |  in  man.  As  if  an  angel  ]  spoke  li 
[p.  ^.]  I  feci  the  solemn  sound.     If  heard  aright, 

*  It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hours. 

Where  ^re  they  ? — With  the  years  beyond  the  fl6od." 

•  These  marks  indicate  [xx]  'very  soft,'  [^  ]  'very  low',  [—  ]  'very 
ilow ';  [m.  5.)  '  median  stress  ';  [p.  q.]  '  pecioral  quality'.  See  Key  to  thi 
Notation  of  'Expressive  Tone',  vn  next  page. 


PAKT    I  ]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  SO 

The  first  five  of  the  properties  of  voice  wliich  have  been  enume- 
rated, are  the  ground  of  the  following  classification  and  notation. 

Key  to  the  Notation  of  ^Expressive  Tone.' 
^Force\ 
[I]  *loud';  [II]  *very  loud';  [x]  *  soft  *;    [xx]  *very  soft'; 
^<]  'increase';  [>]  'decrease'. 

'Fitch', 

[*]  '  high  ';  [*>°]  '  very  high  ';  [J  *  low  ';  [^o]  '  very  low'. 

'Key\ 

f#]  *  lively', — (full  tone ;)  [b]  *  plaintive', — ('  semitone'.) 

-   'Tivie\ 

[u]  *  quick';  [u  u]  'very  quick';  [ — ]  'slow';  [=]  'very 
slow'. 

'Stress\^ 

[r.  s.']  '  radical  stress  ';  [7?^.  5.]  '  median  stress  ';  \y.  5.]  '  van- 
ishing stress';  [c.  5.]  'compound  stress ';  \th.  s.']  'thorough 
stress  ';  [s.  5.]  '  suppressed  stress  ';  [/r.]  '  tremor  ';  [ef.  5.] 
'  effusive  stress  ';  [exp^d.  5.]  '  expulsive  stress  ';  [explo.s.]  '  ex- 
plosive stress'.     Or  the  characters  on  p.  58  may  be  substituted. 

'  Quality' A 

[h.  (7-]  '  harsh  quality  ';  [sm,  q.'\  '  smooth  quality ';  [a.  g.]  '  as- 
pirated quality';  \^pu.  t.'\  'pure  tone';  [7?.  (7.]  'pectoral  (juplity'; 
\g.  q,']  '  guttural  quality  ';  \o.  q.^^  '  oral  quality ';  [pro,  (/.]  '  oro- 
tund quality'. 

Combinations, 

[h.g.q.']  '  harsh  guttural  quality';  \sm,p.q.'\  *  smooth  pec- 
toral quality',  &;c 

Tlie  above  Key,  though,  at  first  sight,  intricate,  will  occasior-  no 
serious  difficulty  to  students  who  have  read  attentively  the  Sections 
on  'Stress'  and  'Quality.'  The  notation  will  be  found  of  great 
service,  not  only  by  suggesting  appropriate  'expression',  which  a 
young  reader  might  otherwise  overlook,  hut  hy  enabling  the  pupil  -o 
prepare  for  the  exercise  of  reading  or  declaiming,  hy  previous  study 
and  practice. 

It  is  a  humiliating  fact,  that,  in  many  schools,  the  suhlimest  and 
most  beautifiU  strains  of  poetry, — take,  for  example,  Milton's  invo- 
cation, "Hail  holy  Light!" — are,  from  the  neglect  of  'expressive 
tone',  called  out  in  the  same  voice  with  which  a  clerk  repeats  the 
number  or  the  mark  on  a  bale  of  goods,  or  read  with  the  '  free  and 
easy  '  modulation  of  a  story  told  by  the  fireside ,^-or  perhaps,  with 

*  See  ^  IX.  'Stress'.  f  See ^  I.  'Quality\ 


IK)  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   !. 

the  pompous  mouthing  of  the  juvenile  hero  of  a  *  spouting  club', 
with  the  languishing  tone  of  a  sick  person,  or  with  the  suppressed, 
half-whispering  utterance  of  a  conscious  culprit. 

The  notation  of  '  expression '  has  been  adopted  with  a  view 
to  the  early  formation  of  correct  habit. 

RULES    ON    EXPRESSIVE    TONE. 

Rule  I.  The  tones  of  anger^  vexation^  alarm^  /car,  and 
terror^  have  an  utterance  'extremely  loud,  high,  and  quick', 
*  abrupt',  and  'explosive', — or,  sometimes  marked  by  'expul- 
sive' and  by  'vanishing'  stress, — an  'aspirated',  'harsh',  and 
*gnttural '  voice,  and  are  characterized,  throughout,  by  the  '  fall- 
ing inflection'. 

Example  of  Anger, 

"  He  hath  disgraced  me,  and  hindered  me  of  half 

a  millio7i ;  laughed  at  my  losses^  mocked  at  my  gains, 

scorned  my  nation^  thwarted  my  bargains^  cooled  my 

friends y  heated  mine  enemies  :  and  lohat  '5  his  rea- 

6     son  ?    I  AM  A  Jil:w. — Hath  not  a  Jeio  eyes,  hath  not 

a  Jeiv  hands,  organs,  dijnhisions,  senses,  affections, 

passions  ?  fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the 

saTTie  weapons,  subject  to  the  safne  diseases,  healed  by 

the  sa7ne  means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  wiu' 

10      ier  and  summer  as  a  CnRfsTiAN  is  ?" 

Vexation, 

"  Say  you  so  1   sAy   you    so  ? — I  say   unto  yoi» 
again,  you  are  a  shallow,  cowardly,  hind,  and  yoa 
lIe.     Our  plot  is  a  good  plot  as  ever  was  Iciid  ;  our 
friends   true    and    constant  ;    a  good   plot,    good 
5     friends,  ?ind  full  o( expectation:  an  excellent ;?Zo^ 
v^.RY  good  friends.    What  a  frosty-spirited  rogue 
is  this! — An  I  were  now  by  this  rascal,  I  could  brain 
him  with  his  lady's  f\n. —  Oh!  I  could  divide  my- 
self, and  go  to  buffets,  for  moving  such  a  Disii  of 
10     skimmed  milk  with  so  honorable  an  action!" 
Alarm. 

"  Strike  on  the  tinder,  ii5  ! 
Give  me  a  taper  ;  call  up  all  my  people! 

Get  MORE  tapers; 
Raise  all  my  kIndred  ! — 
5     Call  up  my  BR6THER  !— 
Some  I  ONE  way,  some  another  ! 

Get  w>:apons,  iih  ! 
And  raise  some  special  officers  of  night !" 


PART    I.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  61 

Fear, 

^^Okl  sXvE  me,  Hubert,  SAVE  me  :  my  eyes  are  6ut, 
Even  with  ihe  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men  I 
AlcLs  I  what  need  you  be  so  boisterous  rough  ? 
I  will  not  struggle, — I  will  stand  |  stone  |  still. 
5     For  Heaven's  sake,  Hubert  I  let  me  not  be  bound! 
Nay,  ii^AR  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  away, 
And  I  will  sit  as  qidet  as  a  lXmb  ; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word, 
Nor  LOOK  |  upon  the  irons  |  dngerly ; 
10      Thrust  but  these  vien  aicay,  and  I  '11  forgive  you, 
WJiatever  toririeuts  you  do  put  me  to." 

Terror. 
"Awake!  AWAKE!— 
Ring  the  alarum  bell  :  MURDER !  and  TREASON ! 
Banquo,  and  Donalbain  !  Malcolm  !  AWAKE  ? 
Shake  off  this  downy  sUep,  death's  counterfeit, 
5     And  look  on  death  itself! — Up  !  up  !  and  see 

The  great  doom's  image  /— MILCOLM  !  BANQUO  i 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprights, 
To  countenance  this  horror  /" 

Rule  II.  Wonder  and  astojiishment  are  expressed  by  *  loud, 
high,  and  slow  utterance ';  '  vanishing  stress ';  *  aspirated  *  and 
slightly  '  guttural'  'quality  ';  and  prolonged  *  downward  slide*. 
— Astonishment  exceeds  wonder,  in  the  degree  of  these  pro- 
perties. 

'Example  of  Wonder, 

"  WJiat  is  H  ?-— a  spirit  ? 
Ste  !  hoiv  it  looks  about !  Believe  me,  sir, 
It  carries  a  brave  form  ! — but  't  is  a  spirit  /-— 
I  might  call  him 
5     A  thing  divine  ;  for  nothing  natural 
I  ever  saw  so  noble  /'' 

Astonishment. 
''Alonzo.  WJiat  harmony  is  this? — my  good  frxendsy 
hXrk  ! 

Gonzalo.  Marvellous  sweet  music  ! 
Alo7i.  Give  us  kijid  ktepers,  h^iavens! — What  were 
5     these  ? 

Sebastian.  A  living  drollery !    Now  I  will  believe 
6 


63  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PA&T  1 

That  there  are  unicoriis :  that,  in  Arabia, 
There  is  ojic  tree^  the  phiBiiix*  throne;  07ic  phanix 
At  this  hour  rHgning  there, 
10         Anto7iw.  1 '11  believe  ^o/A; 

And  what  does  Use  want  credit,  come  to  mh^ 
And  1  '11  be  sioorn  U  is  tr^e." 

Note.  Ainazeincjit,  when  it  does  not  go  to  the  utmost  ex- 
treme, has  a  louder,  but  lower  and  slower  utterance,  tlian  as- 
tonishvient :  the  other  properties  of  voice  are  of  the  same 
description  as  those  expressed  in  astonishment,  but  increased 
in  degree. 

Aviazement. 

*^Gon.  Pthe  name  of  something  h61y,sir,why  stand  you 
In  this  strange  stare  ? 

[o]  Alonzo.  Oh  I  it  is  m6nstrous  !  monstrous  ! 
Me  thought,  the  hilloivs  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it ; 
5     The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me  ;  and  the  thunder, 
That  deep  and  dreadfid  organ-pipe  pronounced 
The  name  of  Prosper  ;  it  did  l^dss  my  trespass  /" 

Rule  III.  Horror  and  extreme  amazement  have  a  *  softened 

*  force',  an  extremely  *low'  note,  and  *  slow '  movement,  a 

*  suppressed  stress',  a  deep  *  aspirated  pectoral  quality'  and  a 
prevailing  *  monotone '. 

Example  of  Horror, 

"  Now,  o'er  the  one  half  world 
Nature  seems  dead ;  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtained  sleeper ;  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  ofTerings  ;  and  withered  murder, 
5     Alarumed  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf. 

Whose  howl 's  his  watch,  thus  Avith  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  aesign 
Moves  like  a  gh6st. — [^  q]  Thou  siire  and  firm-set  earth 
Hear  not  my  steps  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
10     The  very  st6nes  prate  of  my  whereabouts. 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it." 


PIRT    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  03 

Extreme  Amazement* 

"  Oh  !  answer  me : 
Let  me  not  burst  in  ignorance  !  but  tell 
Why  thy  canonized  bones,  hearsed  in  death, 
Have  burst  their  cerements  !  why  the  sepulchre, 
5     Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  inurned, 
Hath  oped  his  ponderous  and  marble  jaws, 
To  cast  thee  up  again  !  [qJ  What  may  this  mean, 
That  thou,  dead  corse,  again,  in  complete  steel 
Revisit'st  thiis  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
10     Making  night  hideous ;  and  we  fools  of  nature, 
So  horribly  to  shake  our  disposition. 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  s6uls  ?" 

Rule  IV.  Awe  has  usually  a  *  suppressed'  force,  a  *  very 
low  '  note,  and  a  *  very  slow  '  movement.  Solejnnity^  revev' 
ence,  and  sublimity ^  have  a  *  moderate  '  force,  a  *  low  *  note, 
and  a  *  slow  movement  *. — All  four  of  these  emotions  are  ut- 
tered with  *  effusive  median  stress',  and  deep,  but  'pure',  'pec- 
toral quality';  together  with  a  prevalent  *  monotone'. 

Note,  When  great  force  is  expressed  in  the  language,  the 
tone  becomes  '  loud '  in  awe, 

Ezainple  of  Awe, 

"  0  Thou  unutterable  Potentate ! 
Through  nature's  vast  extent,  sublimely  great ! — 
But  here,  on  these  gigantic  mountains,  here, 
Thy  greatness,  glory,  wisdom,  strength,  and  spirit, 
5     In  terrible  sublimity  appear  ! 

Thy  awe-imposing  voice  is  heard, — we  hear  it '   - 
The  Almighty's  fearful  voice  :  attend  !    It  breaks 
The  silence,  and  in  solemn  warning  speaks. 
Thou  breathest !  []  ^  ^ — ]  forest  oaks  of  centuries 

10     Tiirn  their  uprooted  trunks  towards  the^ skies. 

Thou  thunderest!  [Iloo  =]  adamantine  mountains  break, 
Tremble,  and  totter,  and  apart  are  riven  ! 

[oo]  At  God's  almighty  will. 
The  afTrighted  world  falls  headlong  from  its  sphere ! 

15    Planets,  and  suns,  and  s;^stems  disappear !" 

Solemnity. 
"  Father  !  thy  hand 
Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns  ;  Thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.    Thou  didst  look  down 


64  AMERICAN    COMMON    SCHOOL  [PART   L 

Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
5     All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They,  in  thy  sun, 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  thy  breeze, 
And  shot  towards  heaven.     The  century-living  crow. 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
10     As  now  they  stand,  massy  and  tall  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshipper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker  !" 

Revere7ice, 
"  Oh  !  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,  and  in  Thy  presence  reassure 
My  feeble  virtue.     Here,  its  enemies, 
The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink 
5     And  tremble,  and  are  still. 

[xx  oo  =]  Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 
In  these  calm  shades.  Thy  milder  majesty, 
And,  to  the  beautiful  order  of  Thy  works, 
Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives ! " 

Sublimity. 

"  Hiil !  holy  Light,  offspring  of  heaven  first  born,— 
Or,  of  the  Eternal,  coeternal  beam 
May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  Light, 
And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
5     Dwelt  from  eternity, — dwelt  then  in  thee. 
Bright  efHuence  of  bright  essence  increate  ; 
Or  hearst  thou,  rather,  piire  ethereal  stream, 
Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ?     Before  the  sun, 
Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and,  at  the  voice 
10     Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters,  dark  and  deep. 
Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite.* 

Rule  V.  Revenge  is  *  loud' and  *  low  Mn  utterance:  when 
deliberate,  it  is  *  slow  ^ — when  violent,  it  is  *  quick':  it  has 
the  *  median  stress  ';  and  *  aspirated  '  *  pectoral '  and  *  guttural 
quality',  combined.  It  is  marked  by  a  prevalent  *  downward 
slide'. 

Example  1. 

"  ON  them,  hussars  ! — Now  give  them  rein  and  h^el  I 
Think  of  the  orpilaned  child,  the  murdered  sIre  : 


PART    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  65 

Earth  cries  for  bl6od,— [1 1]  in  THtNDER  on  them 

WHEEL  I 

5      This  hour  to  Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  trIumph  seal  !" 

2.  Shylock.  "  There  I  have  another  bad  match  :  a 
BANKRUPT,  a  PRODIGAL,  who  dare  scarce  show  his 
head  on  the  Rialto ;  — a  beggar,  that  used  to  come 
so  smug  upon  the  mart :  let  him  look  to  his  bond  : 
5  he  was  wont  to  call  me  usurer  ;  let  him  look  to 
HIS  BOND  :  he  was  wont  to  lend  money  for  a 
CHRISTIAN  COURTESY:  LET  HIM  LOOK 
TO  HIS  BdNDr' 

Rule  VI.  Scoi'u  is  characterized  by  loudness',  by  drawl- 
ing *  slowness',  and  a  tone  which,  in  the  emphatic  words, 
begins  on  a  *high'  and  slides  to  a  'low'  note;  by  *  thorough 
stress',  and  often,  a  laughing  '  tremor',  making  the  beginning, 
the  middle,  and  the  end,  of  every  emphatic  sound,  distinct, 
and  prominent,  and  cutting  to  the  ear.  The  '  quality  '  of  the 
voice  in  this  tone,  is  strongly  '  aspirated',  but  not  *  guttural': 
the  *  inflection '  is  usually  '  falling.',  but,  sometimes,  becomes 
the  *  wave ',  or  '  circumflex '. 

Example  1. 
^'Thozt  slAve,  THOU  WRETCH,  THOU  CdW- 

ARD! 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villany  ! 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side  ! 
5     Thou  fortune's  champion,  that  dost  never  fight 
But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 
To  teach  thee  safety  /" 

2.  "  PaZc,  trembling,  C  6 WARD  !—[Trew^)r.] 

there  I  throw  my  gage : 
By  that,  and  all  the  rights  of  knighthood  hlse^ 
Will  I  make  good  against  thee,  arm  to  Arm, 
5     What  I  have  spoke,  or  thou  canst  worse  devise" 

Rule  VII.  Indignation  is  marked  by  full  *  loudness',  Mow* 
ote,  and  deliberate  '  slowness  ';  a  swelling  *  median  stress  *; 
and  the  effect  arising  from  the  blending  of  *  pectoral'  and 
*  guttural '  tone,  to  all  the  extent  consistent  with  '  pure '  *  oro- 
tund', in  vehement  style.  The  characteristic  inflection  is 
uniformly  *  falling '. 

Exam.  "  In  this  complicated  crisis  of  ddnger, 
weakness,  and  cald??iity,  terrified  and  icsulted  by 
6=^ 


M  AMERICAN    COIVIWON-SCHOOL  [PART   L 

the  7ieighborihg  powers^  unable  to  act  in  America, 
or  acting  only  lo  be  destuoyed,  where  II  is  tJie 
5     MAN  II  who  will  venture  to  flatter  us  with  the  hope 
of  success   from  perseverance  in  measures  pro- 
ductive  of   these   dire   effects? — \yh6   |  has    the 
EFFRONTERY  to  attempt  it  ?     WHERE  II  is  that 
ma7i  ?     Let  him,  if  he  DARE,  stand  forward, 
10     and  snow  his  face." 
Rule  VIII.   Courage,  joy,  ardent  love,  and  ardent  admira- 
tioHy  are  distinguished  by  'loud',  'high',  and  'lively'  utler- 
UDce ;  swelling  'median  stress';  perfectly  smooth  and  *pure 

*  quality'  of  tone;  and  frequent  'falling'  inflections. 

N^tc,  Joy  is  sometimes  expressed  by  '  tremor ',  ardor  by 
aspiration  ',  and  courage  by  '  orotund'  utterance. 

Example  1.   Courage  a?id  Ardent  Adniiration, 

^'Noio  I  for  the   fight  ! — noto  \  for  the  cannon 

^     PEAL  ! — 

FORWARD! — through    blood,    and    toil,   and 
CLOUD,  and  fire  ! 
«**     Glorious — the   shout,  the  shock,  the  crash  of 

ST^EL, 

The  volley's  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire  !" 
2.  Joy. 
''Thou  ChildofJby! 
S;i6tjt  round  me  :  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou  hap 
py  Shepherd  Boy .'" 
3.  Ardent  Love  and  Admiration, 
'•  Oh  !  speak  again,  bright  ^ngel ;  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  sight,  being  o'er  my  head, 
As  IS  a  winged  viesscjiger  of  hkaven 
Ur»to  the  white  upturned  wondering  eyes 
5     Of  mb'^tals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him, 
When  hs  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds, 
And  sails  c\pon  the  bosom  of  the  air." 

Rule  IX.    Excessive  grief  and  sorrow,  are  expressed  by 

*  loud  '  '  high'  and  *  slow'  utterance  ;  '  tremor',  or  *  intermittent 
stress';  and  '  pure  '  '  quality  ', — where  not  interrupted  by  sob* 
or  '  aspiration'.  The  '  falling  inflection'  prevails  throughoul 
the  utterance  of  these  emotions.  ^^ 

Example  ^ 

»  "  Capvl^,  'Ha !  let  me  s^e  her : — Out,  aids  !  she  S  cold 

Her  blood  is  settled  ;  and  her  joints  ar<i  stiflf; 


PART   I.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  67 

Life  and  these  lips  have  long"  been  separated ; 

Death  lies  on  her,  like  an  untimely  fr6st 
5     Upon  the  sweetest  flower  of  all  the  field. 

Accursed  time  !  unfortunate  old  7/idn  !* " 

^'Lady  Capulet,  '  Accursed,  unuXppy,  wretched 
HATEFUL  day  ! 

Most  MISERABLE  hour  that  e'er  time  saw^ 
10     In  lasting  labor  of  his  pilgrimage  ! 

But  d?ie,  poor  bne^  one  poor  and  loving  child, 

But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in. 

And  cruel  death  \  hath  catched  it  from  my  sight  !  * " 

Rule  X.  Moderate  grief  and  sorroiu^  pity^  and  tender  love 
and  admiration^  are  expressed  by  *  softened  force*,  *  high' 
notes,  and  slow  '  movement ';  by  prolonged  and  swelling 
*  median  stress';  and  by  *  pure',  but  *  chromatic',  or  plaintive 
utterance.  The  '  rising  inflection',  in  the  form  of  *S€m- 
itone',  (half  tone,)  prevails  in  the  expression  of  these  emo- 
tions. 

Example  of  Moderate  &rief 

"  Enamored  death,  with  sweetly  pensive  gr^ce 
Was  awful  beauty  to  his  silent  face. 
No  more  his  sad  eye  looked  me  into  tlars  I 
Closed  was  that  eye,  beneath  his  pdTe,  cold  brow; 
6     And  on  his  cal77i  lips,  which  had  lost  their  glow, 

But  which,  though  pale,  seemed  half-unclosed  to  spiak. 
Loitered  a  smile,  like  moonlight  on  the  snow," 

"  Morn  came  again  ; 
But  the  young  lamb  was  dead. 
Yet  the  poor  mother's  fond  distress 
Its  every  art  had  tried 
5     To  shield,  with  sleepless  tenderness, 
The  weak  one  at  her  side. 
Round  it,  all  night,  she  gathered  warm 

Her  \yoolIy  limbs, — her  head 
Close  curved  across  its  feeble  form ; 
10  Day  dawned,  and  it  was  dead. — 

It  lay  before  her  stiff  and  cold, — 

Yet  fondly  she  essayed 
To  cherish  it  in  love's  warm  fold ; 
Then  restless  trial  made, 


IB  ^  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAET  1. 

15     Moving,  with  still  reverted  face, 
And  low,  complaining  bleat, 
To  entice  from  their  damp  resting  place 
Those  little  stifl'ening  feet." 

Tender  Love  and  Admiration, 

^^ Hushed  were  his  Gertrude's  lipSy  but  still  their  bland 

And  beautiful  expression  '  seemed  to  vielt 
With  love  that  could  not  die  !  and  still  his  hand 
She  presses  to  the  heart  no  more  that/eZ^ 
5  [o]  Ah  !  heart,  xohere  once  each  fond  affection  dv^ilt^ 

And  features  \  yet  |  that  spoke  a  soul  more  fair  I " 

Rule  XL  Impatience,  eagerness,  and  hurry,  are  denoted 
Dy  *loud*  *  high ',  and  'quick  movement*;  impatience,  by 
vanishing  ',  or  final  *  stress  ';  eagerness,  by  *  expulsive  me- 
dian stress';  hurry,  by  abrupt  *  radical '  or  initial  *  explosive  ' 
*  stress':  all  three  emotions  are  sometimes  marked  by  the 
Hremor',  and  by  'aspirated',  and  sometimes,  '  anhelose '  or 
panting  utterance, — eagerness  occasionally  by  the  '  orotund  *. 
The  'falling  inflection'  characterizes  the  tones  of  these  emo- 
tions. 

Example  of  Impatience, 

^^ Mortimer.  Fie !  cousin  Percy, — how  you  cr6ss  my 

father  ! 
Hotspur,  I  cannot  ch6ose  :  sometimes  he  angers  me, 
With  telling  me  of  the  moldioarp  and  the  (int, 
^      5     Of  the  dreamer  Merlin,  and  \i\%  prophecies  ; 
And  of  a  dragon,  and  a  finless  fish, 
A  clip'ioinged  griffin,  and  a  moulten  raven, 
A  couching  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat, 
And  such  a  deal  of  skimble  skamble  STtJFF, 
10     As  puts  me  from  my  faith.     I  tell  you  what, —    * 
He  held  me,  but  last  night,  at  least  nine  hours, 
In  reckoning  up  the  several  devils'  names 
That  were  his  Idckeys :  I  cried  ^  htimph  /' — and  ^will! 
^ go  tor- 
lb     But  marked  him  not  a  word.     Oh  !  he  's  as  tedious 
As  is  a  tired  horse,  a  railing  wife  ; 
Worse  than  a  smoky  house  : — I  had  rather  live 
With  cheese  and  garlic  in  a  WINDMILL,  fab, 
Than  feed  on  ccites,  and  have  him  talk  to  me, 
20     In  anv  summer-house  in  Christendom." 


PART   I.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  69 

Eagerness. 
^^Hotspur,  Send  danger  from  the  iast  unto  the  wht 
So  honor  cross  it  from  the  north  to  south, 
And  let  them  grapple  : — Oh  !  the  blood  more  stirs, 
To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  start  a  hare. 
5     By  heaven,  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap, 

To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon  ; 
Or  dive  into  the  hottoni  of  the  deep, 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground^ 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  lochs : 
10     So  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence,  might  wear, 
Without  co-rival,  all  her  dignities." 
Htirry. 
*^ Sisters!  hence,  with  spzirs  of  spied  ! 
Each  her  thundering  falchion  wield  ; 
Each  bestride  her  sable  stI:ed  : 
HijRRY  !  HtlRRY  to  the  fIeld  !" 

Rule  XII.  Melancholy  is  distinguished  by  *soft',  or  faint 
and  languid  utterance,  'very  low  pitch',  and  *very  slow 
movement';  a  gentle  'vanishing  stress';  'pure'  but  'pectoral' 

*  quality';  and  the  '  monotone ',  or,  occasionally,  the  plaintive 

*  semitone'. 

Example, 

"  To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
5     The  way  to  dusty  death. — OiU,  out,  brief  chndle  ! 
Life  's  but  a  walking  shadow, — a  poor  player. 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  II  is  heard  no  more." 

Rule  XIII.  Despair  has  a  'softened  force',  a  'very  low* 
note,  and  a  '  very  slow  movement ';  '  vanishing  stress  ';  deep 
'  pectoral  quality ';  and  a  prevalent  '  falling  inflection  '  or  an 
utter  '  monotone '. 

Example, 

*<  I  have  lived  long  enough  ;  my  way  of  life 
Is  fallen  into  the  sear,  the  yelloiv  leaf: 
And  that  which  should  acc5nipany  old  age. 
As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
5     I  must  not  look  to  hdve  ;  but,  in  their  st^.ad 


70  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   L 

Curses,  -not  loitd,  but  DfeEP,  vibuth-hoiior,  breath, 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  fai7i  detii/y  but  dare  not." 

Rule  XIV.  Remorse  has  a  subdued  or  *  softened*  force, 
very  *  low  pitch*,  and  *  slow  movement';  a  strongly  marked 
•vanishing  stress';  a  deep  *  pectoral '  and  *  aspirated'  *  qual- 
ity ';  and  a  prevailing  '  falling  inflection',  with,  occasionally, 
the  *  monotone'. 

Example. 
"  Ok  !  my  offence  \  is  rank, — it  smells  to  heaven  • 
It  hath  the  priinal  \  Eldest  |  curse  1  upon  't, 
A  brother's  I  mIjrder! — Pray  can  I  not, 
Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  will ; 
5     IVIy  stronger  guilt  II  defeats  my  strong  inthit, — 
Oh  !  WRETCHED  state  !  Oh  !  hosom^  black  as  DkAxn  ! 
Oh  !  LIMED  sovl^  that,  struggling  to  be  frie^ 
Art  nwre  engcLged  /"  x 

Note,  Self-reproach  has  a  tone  similar  to  the  preceding, 
but  less  in  the  extent  of  each  property,  except  *  force',  in 
which  it  exceeds  remorse^  and  *  pitch',  in  which  it  is  higher. 

Example. 
"  Oh  !  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  ^l! 
Is  it  not  m6nstrous  that  this  player  here. 
But  in  ^fiction,  a  dream  of  passion. 
Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit, 
5     That,  from  her  working,  all  his  visage  wcLnnedt 
Tears  in  his  eyes^  distraction  in  's  aspect, 
A  hroken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 
With  forms  to  his  conceit  ?    And  all  for  nothing  I 
For  Hecuba  !  m 

10     What 's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hhcuba,  ^ 

That  he  should  loeep  for  her.     What  would  he  do, 
Had  he  the  motive  and  the  cue  for  passion. 
That  ^1  have  ?  He  would  drown  the  stAge  |  with  tears. 
And  cleave  the  geiieraZ  lar  with  horrid  speech  ! 

15     Make  mad  the  guilty,  and  appal  the  FRkE, 
Confound  the  Ignorant,  and  amaze,  indeed, 
The  very  faculties  of  ^yes  and  kARS." 

Rule  XV.  Mirth  is  distinguished  by  '  loud,'  *  high,'  an 
'quick'  utterance;  and  an  approach  to  the  rapid,  repeated 
•explosions*  of  laughter,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  accord- 
ing to  the  nature  of  the  passage  which  contains  the  emrtion. 


> 


PAET    I.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  71 

To  these  properties  are  added   *  aspirated  quality',  and  the 

*  falling  inflection',  as  a  predominating  one. 

"  A  FOOL,  A  FOOL  !    I  MET  A  FOOL  l'  the  foiest, 

A  MOTLEY  FOOL  ; — a  miserable  world  ; 
As  I  do  live  by  food^  I  met  a  fool  ; 
Who  laid  him  doivn,  and  basked  him  in  the  suri^ 
5     And  railed  on  lady  Fortune  \  in  good  ttrms^ 
In  GOOD  SET  TERMS,  and  yet  a  motley  f6ol  !" 

Rule  XVI.  Gaiety  and  cheerfulness  are  marked  by  *  mode- 
rate force',   *  high  pitch',   and  *  lively  movement ';   moderate 

*  radical  stress  ';  and  smooth,  *  pure  quality  '  of  tone,  with  va- 
ried *  inflections'. 

Example, 
^^Celia,  I  prdy  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  c6z,  be 
merry, 

Rosalind,   Well,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my 
estate,  to  rejoice  in  yours.- — From  henceforth  I  wtllt 
5     coz,  and  devise  sports;  let  me  she  ;  what  think  you  of 
falling  in  love  ? 

Celia.  I  prythee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal ;  but  lovo 
no  man  in  good  earnest. 

Bosali?id.    What  shall  be  our  sport,  then  ? 
10  Celia.  Let  lis  sit  and  mock  the  good  houseioifej  Fbr* 

tune,  from  her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  henceforth 
be  bestowed  equally. 

Rosalind.  I  would  we  could  do  so  ;  for  her  benefits 
are  mightily  misplaced :  and  the  bountiful  \  bli^id  * 
15     womaji  \  doth  most  mistake  her  gifts  to  wbinen.^^ 

Rule  XVII.  Tranquillity,  serenity,  and  repose,  are  indi- 
cated by  *  moderate  force',  *  middle  pitch',  and  *  moderate 
movement';  softened  'median  stress';  *  smooth '  and  'pure' 
'  quality  '  of  tone  ;  and  moderate  inflections. 

Example, 
"  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  b^nk ! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears  !    soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
5  Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 

Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  g61d  ! 
There  's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  beh61d'st. 


72  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   L 

But  I  in  his  motion  |  like  an  angel  |  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim : 
10     Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls !" 

The  careful  study  and  practice  of  tones  cannot  be  too  strongly 
urged  on  the  attention  of  young  readers.  Reading,  devoid  of  tone,  ia 
cold,  monotonous,  and  mechanical,  and  false,  in  point  of  fact.  It  de- 
feats the  main  end  of  reading,  which  is  to  impart  thought  in  it«  natu- 
ral union  with  feeling.  Faulty  tones  not  only  niar  the  effect  of 
expression,  but  offend  the  ear,  by  their  violation  of  taste  and  pro- 
priety. Reading  can  possess  no  interest,  speech  no  eloquence,  with- 
out natural  and  vivid  tones. 

The  foregoing  examples  should  be  practised  with  close  attention, 
and  persevering  diligence,  till  every  property  of  voice  exemplified  in 
them,  is  perfectly  at  command. 


5    XL    APPROPRIATE    MODULATION. 

The  word  *  modulation '  is  the  term  applied,  in  elocution, 
to  those  changes  of  *  force',  *  pitch',  and  *  movement',  *  stress', 
*  quality',  and  '  inflection',  which  occur,  in  continuous  and 
connected  readi*ng,  in  passing  from  the  peculiar  tone  of  one 
emotion  to  that  of  another.  *  Modulation',  therefore,  is  no- 
thing else  than  giving  to  each  tone,  in  the  reading  or  speaking 
of  a  whole  piece,  its  appropriate  character  and  expression. 

The  first  practical  exercise  which  it  would  be  most  advantageous 
to  perform,  in  this  department  of  elocution,  is,  to  turn  back  to  the 
exercises  on  'versatility'  of  voice,  and  repeat  them  till  they  can  be 
•executed  with  perfect  facility  and  precision.  The  next  exercise 
should  be  a  review,  without  the  reading  of  the  intervening  rules,  of 
all  the  examples  given  under  the  head  of  *  tones'.  A  very  extensive 
and  varied  practice  will  thus  be  secured  in  *  modulation'.  It  should 
be  required  of  the  pupil,  while  performing  this  exercise,  to  watch 
narrowly,  and  state  exactly,  every  change  of  tone,  in  passing  from 
one  example  to  another.  The  third  course  of  exercise  in  *  modula- 
tion', is  to  select  those  of  the  pieces  contained  in  this  book,  which 
arc  marked  for  that  purpose,  as  the  notation  will  indicate.  A  fourth 
course  of  practice  may  be  taken  on  pieces  marked  in  pencil,  by  the 
pupils  themselves,  under  the  supervision  of  the  teacher. 

Tliis  statement  wi!!,  it  is  thought,  be  a  sufficient  explanation  ol 
the  reason  why  no  separate  exercises  are  given  under  the  head  of 
modulation,  in  Part  I.  of  this  volume.  The  closing  remarks  of  Sec- 
tion X.  apply  equally  to  ^  XI. 


Stiggestions  to   Teachers. 

The  compilers  of  this  volume  are  well  aware,  that,  in  numerouf 
•chopls,  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  command  sufficient  time  for  the 


PART    I.]  IlEADER    AND    SPEAKER. 

thorough  and  eficctiial  performance  of  exercises  in  reading,  and  still 
more  so,  to  find  time  for  the  systematic  study  of  elocution  :  they 
would,  however,  respectfully  suggest,  that,  as  the  complaint  against 
bad  reading  is  still  so  loud  and  general,  some  efforts  for  the  removal 
of  the  grounds  of  this  complaint,  must  be  made.  If  so,  these  ef- 
forts, to  be  successful,  must  be  systematic  ;  and,  if  systematic,  they 
cannot  be  hurried  and  superficial.  F^ery  teacher  can  best  decide,  in 
his  own  case,  how  much  time  he  can  create  for  such  purposes.  But 
it  would,  at  all  events,  be  practicable  to  make  time  by  dimmishing 
the  quantity  of  reading  usually  attempted  in  a  lesson. — A  class  who 
have  learned  in  a  day,  to  read  one  paragraph  distinctly  and  impress- 
tvely,  have  done  more  than  has  heretofore  been  effected,  in  successive 
YEARS  of  desultory  and  irregular  practice. 

*^*  Teachers  and  students  who  wish  for  a  more  extensive  state- 
ment of  the  general  principles  of  elocution,  or  to  devote  their  atten- 
tion to  the  subject  of  gesture  in  connexion  with  declamation,  may 
find  it  serviceable  to  peruse  the  American  Elocutionist,*  by  one  of 
the  editors  of  the  present  work. 

*  The  American  Elocutionist ;  comprising  ^  Lessons  in  Enunciation', 
'Exercises  in  Elocution',  and  '  Rudiments  of  Gesture  ';  with  a  Selection 
of  new  Pieces  for  practice  in  Reading  and  Declamation  ;  and  engraved 
Illustrations  in  Attitude  and  Action.  Designed  for  Colleges,  Professional 
Institutions,  Academies,  and  Common  Schools  By  William  Rus&^ll. 
Boston  :  Jenks  and  Palmer. 


PART  II.— PIECES  FOR  PRACTICE   IN  READING 
AND  DECLAMATION. 


L£ssoN  I. — Paul's  defence   before   festus  and  agrippa. — 

ACTS,    XXVI.  CHAPTER. 

I  THINK  myself  happy,  king  Agrippa,  because  I  shall 
answer  for  myself  this  day  before  thee,  concerning  all  the 
things  whereof  I  am  accused  by  the  Jews :  especially,  as  1 
know  thee  to  be  expert  in  all  customs  and  questions  which 

5  are  among  the  Jews.  Wherefore  I  beseech  thee  to  hear 
me  patiently. 

My  manner  cf  life  from  my  youth,  which  was  at  the 
first  among  my  own  nation  at  Jerusalem,  know  all  the 
Jews ;  who  knew  me  from  the  beginning,  (if  they  would 

10  testify,)  that  after  the  straitest  sect  of  our  religion,  I  lived 
a  Pharisee.  And  now  I  stand  and  am  judged  for  the  hope 
of  the  promise  made  by  God  to  our  fathers;  to  which 
promise,  our  twelve  tribes,  continually  serving  God  day 
and  night,  hoi)e  to  come :   and  for  this  hope's  sake,  king 

15  Agrippa,  I  am  accused  by  the  Jews. 

Why  should  it  be  thought  a  thing  incredible  with  you, 
that  God  should  raise  the  dead?  I  verily  thought  with 
myself,  that  I  ought  to  do  many  things  contrary  to  the 
name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth :   and  this  I  did  in  Jerusalem. 

PO  Many  of  the  saints  I  shut  up  in  prison,  having  received 
authority  from  the  chief  priests  :  and  when  they  were  put 
to  death,  I  gave  my  voice  against  them.  And  I  often 
punished  them  in  every  synagogue,  and  compelled  them 
to  blaspheme  ;   and  being  exceedingly  mad  against  them, 

2f5  I  persecuted  them  even  unto  strange  cities. 

But  as  I  went  to  Damascus,  with  authority  and  com- 
mission from  the  chief  priests,  at  mid-day,  O  king !  I  saw 
in  the  way  a  light  from  heaven,  above  the  brightness  of  the 
aun,  shining  round  about  me,  and  them  who  journeyed 

30  with  me.  And  when  we  were  all  fallen  to  the  earth,  ^ 
heard  a  voice  speaking  to  me  and  saj  ing,  in  the  Hebrew 


76  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL 

tongue,  Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  ihou  me  ?  It  is  hard 
for  thee  to  kick  against  the  pricks."^  And  I  said,  who  art 
thou,  Lord?  And  he  replied,  I  ain  Jesus  whom  thou 
persecutest.     But  rise,  and  stand  upon  thy  feet:  for  I  have 

5  appeared  to  thee  for  this  purpose,  to  make  thee  a  minister, 
and  a  witness  both  of  these  things,  which  thou  hast  seen, 
and  of  those  things  in  which  I  will  appear  to  thee ; 
delivering  thee  from  the  people,  and  from  the  Gentiles,  to 
whom  I  now  send  thee,  to  open  their  eyes,  and  to  turn 

10  them  from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power  of  satan 
to  God;  that  they  may  receive  forgiveness  of  sins,  and 
inheritance  amongst  them  who  are  sanctified  by  faith  that 
is  in  me. 

Whereupon,  0  king  Agrippa !  I  was  not  disobedient  to 

15  the  heavenly  vision ;  but  showed  first  to  tiiem  of  Damascus 
and  at  Jerusalem,  and  through  all  the  coasts  of  Judea,  and 
then  to  the  Gentiles,  that  they  should  repent,  and  turn  to 
God,  and  do  w^orks  meet  for  repentance.  For  these  causes, 
the  Jews  caught  me  in  the  temple ;   and  went  about  to  kill 

20  me.  Having,  however,  obtained  help  from  God,  I  continue 
to  this  day,  witnessing  both  to  small  and  great,  saying  no 
other  things  than  those  which  the  prophets  and  Moses 
declared  should  come  ;  that  Christ  should  sufTer  ;  that  he 
would  be  the  first  who  should  rise  from  the  dead ;  and  thai 

25  he  would  show  light  to  the  people,  and  to  the  Gentiles. 


LESSON    n. CULTIVATION    OF    THE    MIND. S.  REED. 

P'his  piece  is  intended  as  an  exercise  in  the  application  of  Blie- 
torical  Pauses,  according  to  tlie  Rules  contained  in  the  Sectior  on 
Pausing,  in  Part  I.,  page  25.] 

It  was  the  design  of  Providence,  that  the  infant  mind  | 
should  possess  the  germ  '  of  every  science.  If  it  were 
not  so,  the  sciences  could  hardly  be  learned.  The  care 
of  God  II  provides  '  for  the  flower  of  the  field  1  a  place  * 
wherein  it  may  grow,  regale  the  sense  |  witn  its  fra- 
grance, and  delight  the  soul  |  with  its  beauty.  Is  nis  prov- 
idence '  less  active  I  over  those,  to  whom  this  flower 
ofTers  its  incense  ? — No.  The  soil  '  which  produces  the 
vine  11  in  its  most  healthy  luxuriance,  is  not  better  adapted 

*  Sharp-pointed  instruments. 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  77 

to  that  end,  than  the  world  we  inhahit,  to  draw  forth  the 
latent  energies  of  the  soul,  and  fill  them  •  with  life  '  and 
vigor.  As  well  might  the  eye  |  see  '  without  light,  or 
the  ear  |  hear  '  without  sound,  as  the  human  mind  |  be 
6  healthy  '  and  athletic  |  without  descending  into  the  natu- 
ral world,  and  breathing  the  mountain  air. 

Is  there  aught  in  Eloquence  |  which  warms  the  heart  ? 
She  draws  her  fire  '  from  natural  imagery.  Is  there  aughl 
in  Poetry  |  to  enliven  the   imagination  ?     There  |  is  the 

tO  secret  •  of  all  her  power.  Is  there  aught  in  Science  |  to 
add  strength  '  and  dignity  •  to  the  human  mind  ?  The  nat- 
ural world  II  is  only  the  body,  of  which  '  she  |  is  the  soul. 
In  books,  science  '  is  presented  to  the  eye  of  the  pupil,  as 
it  were,  in  a  dried  '  and  preserved  '  state.    The  time  may 

j^  come,  when  the  instructor  '  will  take  him  by  the  hand, 
and  lead  him  '  by  the  running  streams,  and  teach  him  all 
the  principles  of  Science,  as  she  comes  from  her  Maker ; 
as  he  would  smell  the  fragrance  '  of  the  rose,  without 
gathering  it. 

2C       This  love  of  nature ;  this  adaptation  of  man  '  to  the 

place  assigned  him  '  b}''  his  heavenly  Father ;  this  fulness 

'  of  the  mind  II  as  it  descends  into  the  works  of  God, — 

is  something,  which  has  been  felt  •  by  every  one, — though 

to  an  imperfect  degree, — and  '  therefore  |  needs  no  ex- 

25  planation.  It  is  the  part  of  science,  that  this  |  be  no  long- 
er a  blind  afl^ection  ;  but  '  that  the  mind  '  be  opened  |  to 
a  just  perception  •  of  what  it  is,  which  it  loves.  The  af- 
fection, which  tiie  lover  first  feels  •  for  his  future  wife, 
may  be  attended  '  only  by  a  general  sense  '  of  her  exter- 

30  nal  beauty;  but  his  mind  '  gradually  opens  I  to  a  percep- 
tion ot  the  peculiar  features  of  the  soul,  oi  which  [  the 
external  appeal ance  |  is  only  an  image.  So  it  is  '  with 
nature.  Do  we  love  to  gaze  on  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
stars,  and  the  planets  ?     This  afl^ection  |  contains  '  in  its 

35  bosom  |  the   whole  science  of  astronomy,  as  the  seed  ' 

contains  the  future  tree.     It  is  the  office  of  the  instructor 

'  to  give  it  an  existence  '  and  a  name,  by  making  known 

the    laws,  which    govern    the    motions   of  .the    heavenly 

bodies,  the  relation  ot  these  bodies  to  each  other,  and 

40   »heir  uses. 

Have  we  felt  delight  '  in  beholding  the  animal  creation, 

— in  watching  their  pastimes  '  and  their  labors  ?    It  is  the 

office  of  tho  instructor  '  to  give  birth  to  this  aflfection,  by 

describing  the  difllerent  classes  of  animals,  with  their  pe* 
7# 


78  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    iL 

ciiliar  characteristics,  which  inhabit  the  earth,  the  air,  and 
the  sea.  Have  we  known  the  inexpressible  pleasure  I  of 
beholding  the  beauties  '  of  the  vegetable  world  ?  This 
aflection  |  can  only  expand  '  in  the  science  of  botany. 
6  Thus  it  is,  that  the  love  of  nature  •  in  the  mass  II  may  be- 
come the  love  of  all  the  sciences,  and  the  mind  will  grow 
and  bring  forth  fruit  II  from  its  own  inherent  power  of  de- 
velopment.   

LESSON  m. PHYSICAL   EDUCATION. DR.  HUMPHREY. 

[Marked  for  Rhetorical  Fauses.] 
That  I  is  '  undoubtedly  |  the  wisest  '  and  best  regimen, 
which  takes  the  infant  '  from  the  cradle,  and  conducts  him 
along,  through  childhood  '  and  youth,  up  to  high  matu- 
rity, in  such  a  manner  '  as  to  give  strength  '  to  his  arm, 
5  swiftness  '  to  his  feet,  solidity  '  and  amplitude  '  to  his 
muscles,  symmetry  '  to  his  frame,  and  expansion  '  to  his 
vital  energies.  It  is  obvious,  that  this  branch  of  educa- 
tion I  comprehends,  not  only  food  '  and  clothing,  but  air, 
exercise,  lodging,  early  rising,  and  whatever  else  '  is  re- 

10  quisite  to  the  full  development  •  of  the  physical  constitu- 
tion. The  diet  |  must  be  simple,  the  apparel  |  must  not 
be  too  warm,  nor  the  bed  |  too  soft. 

Let  parents  |  beware  '  of  too  much  restriction  I  in  the 
management  of  their  darling  boy.     Let  him,  in  cnoosing 

15  his  play,  follow  the  suggestions  of  nature.  Let  them  not 
be  discomposed  |  at  the  sight  of  his  sand-hills  '  in  the 
road,  his  snow-forts  •  in  February,  and  his  mud-dams  '  in 
April :  nor  when  they  chance  to  look  out  '  in  the  midst  of 
an  August  shower,  and  see  him  wading  '  and  sailing,  and 

20  sporting  '  along  with  the  water-fowl.     If  they  would  make 
•    him  hardy  '  and  fearless,  they  must  let  him  go  abroad  '  as 
often  as  he  pleases,  in  his  early  boyhood,  and  amuse  him- 
self •  by  the  hour  together,  in  smoothing  '  and  twirling  ' 
the  hoary  locks  of  winter.     Instead  of  keeping  him  shut 

25  up  '  all  day  '  with  a  stove,  and  graduating  his  sleeping- 
room  •  by  Fahrenheit,  they  must  let  him  face  the  keen 
edge  of  a  north  wind,  when  the  mercury  '  is  below  cipher, 
and,  instead  of  minding  a  little  shivering  '  and  complain- 
ing when  he  returns,  cheer  up  his  spirits  and  send  him 

30  out  again.  In  this  way,  they  will  teach  him  '  that  he 
was  not  born  to  live  in  the  nursery,  nor  to  brood  over  the 
fire  ;  but  to  range  abroad,  as  free  as  the  snow  '  and  the  air 
and  to  gain  warmth  '  from  exercise. 


PART   II.]  READER    AND    SP£AKER.  Tf 

I  love  '  and  admire   '   the  youth,  who  turns  not  back 
'  from  the  howling  wintry  blast,  nor  withers  •  under  the 
blaze  of  sunnmer ;  who  never  magnifies  *  mole-hills  into 
mountains ';  but  whose  daring  eye,  exulting,  scales   the 
5  eagle's  airy  crag,  and  who  is  ready  to  undertake  any  thinj, 
'  that  is  prudent  and  lawful,  within  the  range  of  possibil 
ity.     Who  would  think  '  of  planting  the  mountain  oak  ' 
in  a  green-house  ?  or  of  rearing  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  • 
in  a  lady's  flower-pot  ?     Who  does  not  know,  that,  in  or 
10  der  to  attain  their  mighty  strength  '  and  majestic  forms, 
they  must  freely  enjoy  the  rain  '  and  the  sunshine,  and 
must  feel  the  rocking  of  the  tempest  ? 


LESSON    IV. SELF-EDUCATION. D.  A.  WHITE. 

plarked  for  Rhetorical  Pauses.} 

Education  is  the  personal  and  practical  concern  of 
every  individual,  and  at  all  periods  of  life. — Those  |  who 
have  been  favored  with  advantages  of  early  instruction, 
or  '  even  '  with  a  course  of  liberal  education,  ought  to 
5  consider  it  '  rather  as  a  good  foundation  to  build  upon, 
than  as  a  reason  '  for  relaxing  |  in  their  eflbrts  '  to  make 
advances  in  learning.  The  design  of  early  education,  it 
should  be  remembered,  is  not  so  much  to  accumulate  in- 
formation, as  to  develop,  invigorate,  and  dis(  ipline  '  the 

10  faculties;  to  form  habits  of  attention,  observa'ion,  and  in- 
dustry, and  '  thus  |  to  prepare  the  mind  |  for  more  exten- 
sive acquirements,  as  well  as  for  a  proper  discharge  '  of 
the  duties  of  life. 

Those,  who  have  not  the  privileges  of  early  instruction, 

15  must  feel  the  stronger  inducement  |  to  avail  theniselves  • 
of  all  the  means  '  and  opportunities  '  in  theii  power,  for 
the  cultivation  of  their  minds   |   and  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge.     It  can  never  be  too  late  II  to  begin  |  or  to 
advance  |  the  Avork  of  improvement.     They  will  find  dis- 

20  tinguished  examples  of  success  |  in  the  noble  career  of 
self-education,  to  animate  their  exertions.  These  will 
teach  them,  that  n  3  condition  in  life  |  is  so  humble,  no 
circumstances  |  so  depressing,  no  occupation  |  so  labori- 
ous, as  to  present  insuperable  obstacles  to  success  |  in  the 

25  acquisition  of  knovledge.     All. such  disheartening  obsta- 
cles, combined,  mr  y  be  surmounted,  as  they  have  been  ' 
in  a  thousand  inst  nces,  by  resolute  '  and  persevering  de- 
termination '  to  0  eycoifte. 


80  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  H. 

Some  of  the  most  celebrated  philosophers  of  antiquity, 
rose  from  the  condition  of  slaves  ;  and  many  of  the  most 
learned  |  among  the  moderns,  have  educated  themselves  li 
under  circumstances  •  scarcely  less  depressing  |  than  those 
6  of  servitude.  Heyne,"^  the  first  classical  scholar  of  Ger* 
many,  during  the  last  century,  and  the  brightest  ornament 
I  of  the  university  of  G6ttingen,t  raised  himself  '  from 
the  depths  of  poverty,  by  his  own  persevering,  determined 
spirit  of  application,  rather  than  by  the  superior  force  of 

10  his  natural  genius.  GifTord,  the  elegant  translator  of  Ju- 
venal, struggled  with  poverty  '  and  hardships  |  in  early 
life,  and  nobly  persevered,  till  he  gained  the  hign  rewards 
of  British  learning ;  and  Ferguson,  the  celebrated  astron- 
omer '  and  mechanician,  was   the   son  of  a  day-laborer, 

15  and,  at  an  early  age,  was  placed  at  service  |  with  several 
farmers  '  in  succession ;  yet,  without  teachers,  and  almost 
without  means  '  of  instruction,  he  attained  to  high  rank  | 
among  the  philosophers  of  his  age,  and,  as  a  lecturer,  was 
listened  to  |  by  the  most  exalted,  as  ^  rdl  as  the  humblest  | 

20  in  rank    and  station.     By  his  cleai   and  simple  manner 
'   of  teaching   the    physical   sciences,  he    rendered  the 
knowledge  of  them  ^  more  general,  than  it  had  ever  before 
been   '   in  England  ;  and  |  through  his  learned  publica- 
tions I  he  became  '  also  '  the  instructor  of  colleges  •  and 

25  universities. 

All  these  extraordinary  men  II  have  left  memoirs  of 
themselves,  detailing  the  struggles  '  through  which  they 
have  passed,  which  will  forever  teach  persevering  resolu- 
tion, against  opposing  obstacles,  to  all  '  who  have  a  love 

30  of  knowledge  |  or  a  desire  of  improvement.  What  en- 
couragement '  may  they  not  afford  |  to  those  who  have  no 
such  struggles  to  encounter,  and  who  can  obtain  |  without 
difficulty  I  the  means  of  instructing  themselves  !  There 
would  seem  to  be  no  apology,  at  the  present  day,  in  this 

35  country  |  at  least,  for  extreme  ignorance,  in  any  situation 
'  or  condition  '  of  life.     The  most  valuable  knowledge, 
that  which  is  essential  to  moral  ciltivation,  is  certainly 
within  the  reach  of  all. 

Innumerable   I   are   the  instances  of  successful  self-in- 

40  struction,  not  only  among  men  of  I  right  natural  talents, 

♦  Pronounced,  Hlnj^y. 

I  The  0,  in  this  word,  is  not  sounded  5  in  any  English  word : 
it  resembles  ecu,  in  the  French  word  caur,-  -the  ng  sound  as  in  the 
English  word  singer. 


FART   II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  81 

but  among  those  of  apparently  moderate  powers  ;  not  only 
against  the  force  of  early  disadvantages,  but  against  thai 
'  of  the  most  adverse  circumstances  |  of  active  '  and  pub- 
lic '  employment.  The  highest  honors  of  learning  |  have 
5  been  won  if  amidst  laborious  professional  duties  |  and  the 
pressing  cares  of  state.  Hardy  seamen,  too,  who  have 
spent  their  days  |  in  conflict  with  the  storms  of  the  ocean, 
have  found  means  '  to  make  themselves  distinguished  |  in 
science  '  and  literature,  as   well  as  by  achievements   in 

10  their  profession.  The  lives  of  Columbus,  Cook,  and  Lord 
CoUingwood  II  gloriously  attest  this  fact.  Our  own  coun- 
try I  has  produced  her  full  proportion  '  of  self-taught  men, 
— statesmen  |  and  civilians,  philosophers  |  and  men  of 
science.     At  their  head  II  stand  Washington  |  and  Frank- 

15  lin,  neither  of  whom  |  enjoyed,  in  early  life,  advantages 
of  education,  equal  '  to  those  which  are  afforded  '  by  some 
of  our  free  schools  I  to  the  humblest  of  the  people. 


LESSON  V. CHARACTER    OF    TRUE    ELOQUENCE. WEBSTER. 

[This,  and  the  two  following  pieces,  are  meant  to  be  studied, 
and  marked  in  pencil,  by  pupils,  themselves, — under  the  guidance, 
at  first,  of  the  teacher.  The  marking  to  be  applied  as  an  exten- 
sion of  practice  on  Rhetorical  Pauses.] 

When  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong 
passions  excited,  nothing  is  valuable,  in  speech,  farther 
than  it  is  connected  with  high  intellectual  and  moral  en- 
5  dowments.  Clearness,  force,  and  earnestness,  are  the 
qualities  which  produce  conviction  True  eloquence,  in- 
deed, does  not  consist  in  speech.  U  cannot  be  brought 
from  far.  Labor  and  learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they 
will  toil  in  vain.     Words  and  phrase?  may  be  marshalled 

10  in  every  way, — they  cannot  compass  it.  It  must  exist 
in  the  man,  in  the  subject,  and  in  the  occasion.  Affected 
passion,  intense  expression,  the  pomp  of  declamation,  all 
may  aspire  after  it, — they  cannot  reach  it.  It  comes,  if  it 
come  at  all,  like  the  outbreaking  of  a  fountain  from  the 

15  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanic  fires,  with  sponta- 
neous, original,  native  force. 

The  graces  taught  in  the  school^,  the  costly  oTnaments, 
and  studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust 
men,  when  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives, 

20  their  :hildrcn,  and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of 
the  hour.     Then,  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric 


82  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   DU 

is  vain,  and  all  elaborate  oratory  contemptible.  Even 
genius  itself  then  feels  rebuked  and  subdued,  as  in  the 
presence  of  higher  qualities.  Then,  patriotism  is  elo- 
quent :  then,  self-devotion  is  eloquent.  The  clear  concep- 
5  tion,  outrunning  the  deductions  of  logic,  the  high  purpose, 
the  firm  resolve,  the  dauntless  spirit,  speaking  on  the 
tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  informing  every  feature, 
and  urging  the  whole  man  onward,  right  onward  to  his 
object, — this,  this  is  eloquence:  or  rather  it  is  something 
10  greater  and  higher  than  all  eloquence, — it  is  action,  noble, 
sublime,  godlike  action.    

LESSON    VI. INDUSTRY     INDISPENSABLE    TO    THE    ORATOR. 

H.  WARE,  JR. 

[To  be  marked  for  Rhetorical  Pajtses,  by  the  reader.] 

The  history  of  the  world  is  full  of  testimony  to  prove 

how  much  depends  upon  industry ;  not  an  eminent  orator 

has  lived  but  is  an  example  of  it.     Yet,  in  contradiction 

to  all  this,  the  almost  universal  feeling  appears  to  be,  that 

5  industry  can  effect  nothing,  that  eminence  is  the  result  of 

accident,  and  that  every  one  must  be  content  to  remain 

just  what  he  may  happen  to  be.     Thus  multitudes,  whc 

come  forward  as  teachers  and  guides,  suffer  themselves  to  be 

satisfied  with  the  most  indiflierent  attainments,  and  amiser- 

10  able  mediocrity,  without  so  much  as  inquiring  how  they 
may  rise  higher,  much  less  making  any  attempt  to  rise. 

For  any  other  art  they  would  have  served  an  appren- 
ticeship, and  Avould  be  ashamed  to  practise  it  in  public 
before  they  had  learned  it.     If  any  one  would  sing,  he 

15  attends  a  master,  and  is  drilled  in  the  very  elementary 
principles;,  and  only  after  the  most  laborious  process 
<iares  to  exercise  his  voice  in  public.  This  he  does, 
though  he  has  scarce  any  thing  to  learn  but  the  mechani- 
cal  execution  of  what  lies  in  sensible   forms  before  the 

20  eye. 

But  the  extempore  speaker,  who  is  to  invent  as  well  as 
to  utter,  to  carry  on  an  operation  of  the  mind  as  well  as 
to  produce  sound,  enters  upon  the  work  without  prepara- 
tory discipline,  and   then  wonders  that  he  fails  !     If  he 

25  were  learning  to  play  on  the  flute  for  public  exhibition, 
what  hours  and  days  would  he  spend  in  giving  facility  to 
his  fingers,  and  attaining  the  power  of  the  sweetest  and 
most  expressive  execution  !  If  he  were  devoting  himself, 
to  iho  organ,  what  months  and  years  would  he  labor,  that 


PART    II.]  HEADER   AND    SPEAKER.  83 

he  might  know  its  compass,  and  be  master  of  its  keys, 
and  be  able  to  draw  out,  at  will,  all  its  various  combina- 
tions of  harmonious  sound,  and  its  full  richness  and  deli- 
cacy of  expression  !  And  yet  he  will  fancy  that  the 
5  grandest,  the  most  various  and  most  expressive  of  all  in- 
straments,  which  the  infinite  Creator  has  fashioned  by 
the  union  of  an  intellectual  soul  with  the  powers  of 
speech,  may  be  played  upon  without  study  or  practice ; 
he  comes  to  it  a  mere  uninstructed  tyro,  and  thinks  to 

10  manage  all  its  stops,  and  command  the  whole  compass  of 
its  varied  and  comprehensive  power !  He  finds  himself  a 
bungler  in  the  attempt,  is  mortified  at  his  failure,  and  set- 
tles it  in  his  mind  forever,  that  the  attempt  is  vain. 

Success  in  every  art,  whatever  may  be  the  natural  tal- 

15  ent,  is  always  the  reward  of  industry  and  pains.  But 
the  instances  are  many,  of  men  of  the  finest  natural  ge- 
nius, whose  beginning  has  promised  much,  but  who  have 
degenerated  wretchedly  as  they  advanced,  because  they 
trusted  to  their  gifts,  and  made  no  efllbrts  to  improve. 

20  That  there  have  never  been  other  men  of  equal  endow- 
ments with  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  none  would  venture 
to  suppose  ;  but  who  have  so  dovoted  themselves  to  their 
art,  or  become  equal  in  excellence  ?  If  those  great  men 
had  been  content,  like  others,  to  continue  as  they  began, 

25  and  had  never  made  their  persevering  efi^orts  for  improve- 
ment, what  would  their  countries  have  benefited  from 
their  genius,  or  the  world  have  known  of  their  fame  ? — 
They  would  have  been  lost  in  the  undistinguished  crowd 
that  sunk  to  oblivion  around  them. 


LESSON    VII. GENIUS. ORVILLE    DEWEY. 

pTo  be  marked  for  Rhetorical  Pauses^  by  the  reader.] 

The  favorite  idea  of  a  genius,  among  us,  is  of  one  who 
never  studies,  or  who  studies  nobody  can  tell  when,  at 
midnight,  or  at  odd  times  and  intervals,  and  now  and  then 
strikes  out,  "  at  a  heat,"  as  the  phrase  is,  some  wonderful 
5  production.  Thi^  is  a  character  that  has  figured  largely 
in  the  history  of  our  literature,  in  the  person  of  our  Fielci- 
ings,  our  Savages,  and  our  Steeles  ;  "  loose  fellows  about 
town,  or  loungers  in  the  country ;"  who  slept  in  ale- 
houses, and  wrote  in  bar-rooms ;  who  took  up  the  pen  as 
10  a  magician's  wand,  to  supply  their  wants,  and,  when  the 
pressure  of  necessity  was  relieved,  resorted  again  to  llieii 


M  AMEniCAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART   IL 

carousals.  Your  real  genius  is  an  idle,  irregular,  vaga- 
bond sort  of  personage ;  who  muses  in  the  fields,  or 
dreams  by  the  fireside :  whose  strong  impulses, — that  is 
the  cant  of  it, — must  needs  hurry  him  into  wild  irregular- 
6  ities,  or  foolish  eccentricity ;  who  abhors  order,  and  can 
bear  no  restraint,  and  eschews  all  labor ;  such  a  one  as 
Newton  or  Milton  !  What !  they  must  have  been  irregu- 
lar, else  they  were  no  geniuses. 

"The  young  man,"  it  is  often  said,  "has  genius  enough, 

10  if  he  would  only  study."  Now  the  truth  is,  as  I  shall 
take  the  liberty  to  state  it,  that  the  genius  will  study ;  it 
is  that  in  the  mind  which  does  study :  that  is  the  very 
nature  of  it.  I  care  not  to  say  that  it  will  always  use 
books.     All  study  is  not  reading,  any  more  than  all  read- 

15  ing  is  study. 

Attention  it  is, — though  other  qualities  belong  to  this 
transcendant  power, — attention  it  is,  that  is  the  very  soul 
of  genius ;  not  the  fixed  eye,  not  the  poring  over  a  book, 
but  the  fixed  thought.     It  is,  in   fact,  an  action  of  the 

20  mind,  which  is  steadily  conci^trated  upon  one  idea  or 
one  series  of  ideas,  which  collects,  in  one  point  the  rays  of 
the  soul,  till  they  search,  penetrate,  and  fire  the  whole  train 
of  its  thoughts.  And,  while  the  fire  burns  within,  the 
outside  may  be  indeed  cold,  indifferent,  negligent,  absent 

25  in  appearance  ;  he  may  be  an  idler  or  a  wanderer,  appar- 
ently without  aim  or  intent ;  but  still  the  fire  burns  within. 
And  what  though  "  it  bursts  forth,"  at  length,  as  has 
been  said,  "like  volcanic  fires,  with  spontaneous, original, 
native   force  ? "     It    only    shows    the    intense    action    of 

30  the  elements  beneath.  What  though  it  breaks  like  light- 
ning from  the  cloud  ?  The  electric  fire  had  been  collect- 
ing in  the  firmament  through  many  a  silent,  clear,  and 
calm  day.  What  though  the  might  of  genius  appears  in 
one  decisive  blow,  struck  in  some  moment  of  high  debate, 

35  or  at  the  crisis  of  a  nation's  peril  ?  That  mighty  energy, 
though  it  may  have  heaved  in  the  breast  of  Demos- 
thenes, was  once  a  feeble  infant  thought.  A  mother's  eye 
watched  over  its  dawning.  A  father's  care  guarded  its 
early  youth.     It  soon  trod  with  youthful  steps  the  halls  of 

40  learning,  and  found  other  fathers  to  wake  and  to  watch 

for  it,  even  as  it  finds  them  here.     It  went  on  ;  but  si- 

,    ler.ce  was  upon  its  path ;  and  the  deep  struirglings  of  the 

inward    soul    silently   ministered    to    it.      The    elements 

around  breathed  upon  it,  and  "  touched  it  to  finer  issues.** 


PART    11.]  REAUER    AND   SI^EAKBIU. 

The  golden  ray  of  heaven  fell  uporf 
paneling  faculties.  The  slow  revolutions  of  years  slowly 
added  to  its  collected  energies  *nnd  treasures ;  till,  in  its 
hour  of  glory,  it  stood  forth  imbodied  in  the  form  of  liv- 
5  ing,  commanding,  irresistible  eloquence. 

The  world  wonders  at  the  manifestation,  and  says, 
"  Strange,  strange,  that  it  .should  come  thus  unsought,  un- 
premeditated, unprepared ! "  But  the  truth  is,  there  is 
no  more  a  miracle  in  it,  than  there  is  ii#the  towering  of 
10  the  preeminent  forest-tree,  or  in  the  flowing  of  the  mighty 
and  irresistible  river,  or  in  the  wealth  and  waving  of  the 
boundless  harvest.  

LESSON    VIII. ANTIQUITY    OF    FREEDOM. W.  C.  BRYANT. 

[Marked  for  Rhetorical  Pames^  in  poetry.] 
Here  '  are  old  trees,  tall  oaks  |  and  gnarled  pines, 
That  stream  •  with  gray-green  mosses  ;  here  |  the  ground 
Was  never  trenched  by  spade  ;  and  flowers  |  spring  up  ' 
Unsown,  and  die  unfathered.     It  is  sweet  | 
5  To  linger  here,  amo^^Bk  flitting  birds. 

And  leaping  squirr^^^BWering  brooks,  and  winds  * 
That  shake  the  leavSiPml  scatter,  as  they  pass, 
A  fragrance  '  from  the  cedars,  thickly  set  ' 
With  pale  blue  berries.     In  these  peaceful  shades,— 
10  Peaceful,  unpruned,  immeasurably  old, — 

My  thoughts  '  go  up  the  long  '  dim  '  path  of  years, 
Back  '  to  the  earliest  days  of  Liberty. 

to  Freedom  !  thou  art  not,  as  poets  '  dream, 
fair  young  girl,  with  light  '  and  delicate  limbs, 

15  And  wavy  tresses  |  gushing  from  the  cap  ' 

With  which  the  Roman  master  '  crowned  his  slave  | 
When  he  took  oflf  the  gyves.     A  bearded  man. 
Armed  to  the  teeth,  art  thou ;  one  mailed  hand  II 
Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  |  the  sword ;  thy  brow, 

20  Glorious  in  beauty  |  though  it  be,  is  scarred  II 
With  tokens  of  old  wars ;  thy  massive  limbs  II 
Are  strong  with  struggling,  rower  I  at  thee  has  launched 
fiis  bolts,  and  '  with  his  lightnings  '  smitten  thee  ; 
They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from  heaven. 

25  Merciless  power  |  has  dug  thy  dungeon  deep. 
And  his  swart  armorers,  by  a  thousand  fires. 
Have  forged  thy  chain ;  yet,  while  he  deems  thee  bound. 
The  links  are  shivered,  and  the  prison  walls  | 
Fall  outward  ;  terribly  i>'«u  springest  forth, 
8 


66  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAR^T   IT. 

A^  springes  the  flame  '  above  a  burning  pile, 
And  shouiesl  to  the  nations,  who  return  j-     :,-^ 

Thv  shoutings,  while  the  pale  oppressor  |  flies.  ^ 
Thy  birthright  |  was  not  given  '  by  human  hamls  • 
5     Thou  wert  twin-born  '  with  man.     In  pleasant  fields 
While  yet  our  race  was  few,  thou  sat*st  with  him, 
To  tend  the  quiet  flock  |  and  watch  the  stars, 
And  teach  the  reed  to  utter  simple  airs. 
Thou  I  by  ^s  side,  amid  the  tangled  wood, 

10     Didst  war  upon  the  panther  '  and  the  wolf,  ^^^    , 

His  only  foes ;  and  thou  '  w^ith  him  '  didst  draw      -P"   f 
The  earliest  furrows  '  on  the  mountain  side, 
Soft  '  with  the  deluge.     Tyranny  himself, 
Thy  enemy,  although  of  reverend  look, 

15     Hoary  '  "with  many  years,  and  far  obeyed, 
Is  later  born  '  than  thou  ;  and  |  as  he  meets 
The  grave  defiance  of  thine  elder  eye. 
The  usurper  j  trembles  |  in  his  fastnesses. 

Oh  !  not  yet  | 

20     Mays't  thou  unbrace  thy  cm|A^nor  lay  by  ' 

Thy  sword ;  nor  yet,  O  Fj^^^W  close  thy  lids  * 

In  slumber ;  for  thine  enen^^^^er  sleeps. 

And  thou  '  must  watch  '  an^xombat  11  till  the  day 

Of  the  new  earth  '  and  heaven.     But  wouldst  thou  rest 

25     Awhile  I  from  tumult  '  and  the  frauds  of  men, 
These  old  *  and  friendly  solitudes  |  invite 
Thy  visit.     They,  while  yet  the  forest  trees  | 
•     Were  young  '  upon  the  unviolated  earth,  ^ 

And  yet  the  moss-stains  '  on  the  rock  |  were  new,  * 

30     Beheld  thy  glorious  childhood,  and  rejoiced. 


LESSON   IX. — SUNRISE    ON   THE    IIILLS. — H.  W.  LONGFELLOW 
[To  be  marked  for  Rketorical  Pauses.] 

I  stood  upon  the  hills,  where  heaven's  wide  arch 
Was  glorious  with  the  sun*s  returning  march. 
And  woods  were  brightened,  and  soft  gales 
Went  forth  to  kiss  the  sun-clad  vales. 
5     The  clouds  were  far  beneath  me : — bathed  in  light 
They  gathered  midway  round  the  wooded  height, 
And  in  their  fading  glory  shone 
Like  hosts  in  battle  overthrown. 
As  many  a  pinnacle  with  shifting  glance, 
10  Through  the  gray  mist  thrust  up  itd  nhnttered  Jance, 


PART    U.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  87 

And  rocking  on  the  cliff  was  left 

The  dark  pine,  blasted,  bare,  and  cleft. 
The  veil  of  cloud  was  lifted, — and  below 
Glowed  the  rich  valley,  and  the  river's  flow 
6  Was  darkened  by  the  forest's  shade, 

Or  glistened  in  trie  white  cascade, 
Where  upward,  in  the  mellow  blush  of  day, 
The  noisy  bittern  wheeled  his  spiral  way. 

I  heard  the  distant  waters  dash, — 
10         I  saw  the  current  whirl  and  flash  ; — 
And  richly,  by  the  blue  lake's  silver  beach. 
The  woods  were  bending  with  a  silent  reach.  * 

Then  o'er  the  vale,  with  gentle  swell, 

The  music  of  the  village-bell 
15  Came  sweetly  to  the  echo-giving  hills  , 

And  the  wild  horn,  whose  voice  the  woodland  fills, 

Wjfs  ringing  to  the  merry  shout 

That  faint  and  far  the  glen  sent  out, — 
Where,  answering  to  the  sudden  shot,  thin  smoke 
20  Through  thick-leaved  branches  from  the  dingle  broke. 

If  thou  art  worn  and  hard  beset 

With  sorrows  that  thou  wouldst  forget,— 
If  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson  that  will  keep 
Thy  heart  from  fainting,  and  thy  soul  from  sleep, 
25         Go  to  the  woods  and  hills  ! — No  tears 

Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears. 


LESSON    X. THE    CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER. E.  COOPER. 

[This,  and  the  two  following  pieces,  are  marked  as  exercises  in 
application  of  the  rules  contained  in  the  Section  on  Emphasis,  Part  I., 
page  28.] 

The  true  Christian  must  show  that  he  is  in  earliest 
about  religion.  In  the  management  of  his  ivorldly  af- 
fairs,  he  must  ^t  it  clearly  be  seen,  that  he  is  not  influ- 
enced  by  a  worldly  mind;   that  his  heart  is  not  upon 

5  earth  ;  that  he  pursues  his  worldly  calling  from  a  princi- 
ple of  DUTY,  not  from  a  sordid  love  of  gain  ;  and  that,  in 
truth,  his  ireasnires  are  in  heaven.  He  must,  therefore, 
not  only  '*  provide  things  honest  in  the  sight  of  all  men  ;" 
not  only  avoid  every  thing  which  is  frandidc7it  and  un- 

10  just  in  his  dealings  with  others ;  not  only  openly  protest 
against  those  iniquitmis  practices  which  the  custom  of 
trade  too  frequently  countenances  and  approves ; — but, 
also,  he  must  "  let  his  moderation  be  known  unto  all  men.'' 


88  ^     AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    11. 

He  must  not  push  his  gains  with  seeming  eageriiesSy  eren 
to  the  utmost  lawful  extent.  He  must  exercise  forbear^ 
a7ic€.  He  must  be  coiilent  with  vioderate  profits.  He 
must  sometimes  even  forego  advantages,  which,  in  them- 

5  selves,  he  might  innocently  take^  lest  he  should  seem  to 
give  any  ground  for  suspecting  that  his  heart  is  secretly 
set  upon  these  things. 

Thus,  also,  with  respect  to  worldly  pleasures ;  he  must 
endeavor  to  convince  inen  that  the  pleasures  which  reli- 

10  GioN  furnishes,  are  far  greater  than  those  which  the  world 
can    yield.     While,   therefore,  he    conscientiously    keeps 

•  from  joining  in  those  triflings  and,  too  often,  profane 
amusements,  in  which  ungodly  men  profess  to  seek  their 
happi7iesSy  he  must  yet  labor  to  show,   that,  in  keeping 

15  from  those  things,  he  is,  in  respect  to  real  happiness,  no 
loser,  but  even  a  gainer  by  religion.  He  must  avoid 
every  thing  which  may  look  like  moroseness  and  gloom. 
He  must  cultivate  a  cheerfulness  of  spirit.  He  must  en- 
deavor to  show,  in  his  whole  deportment,  the  contentment 

20  and  tranq^iillity  which  naturally  flow  from  heavenly  af- 
fections, from  a  mind  at  peace  with  God,  and  from  a  ho])e 

full  of  IMMORTALITY. 

The  spirit  which  Christianity  enjoins  and  produces,  is 
so  widely  different  from  the  spirit  of  the  world,  and  so  im- 

25  mensely  sitperior  to  it,  that,  as  it  cannot  fail  of  being  no- 
ticed, so  it  cannot  fail  of  being  admired,  even  by  those 
who  are  strangers  to  its  power.  Do  you  ask  in  what  par- 
ticulars thifi  spirit  shows  itself  ?  I  answer,  in  the  exercise 
of  humility,  of  meekness,  of  gentleness  ;  in  a  patient  bear^ 

30  ing  of  injuries;  in  a  readiness  to  forgive  offences;  in  o 
uniform  endeavor  to  overcome  evil  with  good  ;  in  self  de- 
nial and  disinterestedness  ;  in  universal  kindness  and  cour- 
tesy ;  in  slowness  to  wrath;  m  an  unwillingness  to  hear 
or  to  speak  evil  of  others ;  in  a  forwardness  to  defend,  to 

35  advise,  and  to  assist  them ;  in  loving  our  enemies;  in  bless- 
ing them  that  curse  us ;  in  doing  good  to  them  that  hate 
us.      These  are  genuine  fruits  of  true  Christianity. 

The  Christian  must  *'  let  his  light  shine  before  men,** 
by  discharging  in  a  faithful,  a  diligent,  and  a  consistent 

40  manner,  the  personal  and  particular  ditties  of  his  station. 

As  a  member  of  society,  he  must  be  distinguished  by  a 

blameless  and  an  i?ioffe7isive  conduct ;  by  a  simplicity  and 

an  ingenuousness  of  character,  free  from  every  degree  of 

guile  ;  by  uprightness  ^n^i  fidelity  in  all  his  engagements 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  89 

As  a  neighbor,  he  must  be  ki?idj  friendly,  and  accommo- 
dating. His  discourse  must  be  mild  and  ijistmctive.  He 
must  labor  to  prevent  qnarrels,  to  reconcile  those  who  dif- 
fer,  to  comfort  the  afflicted.  In  short,  he  must  be  "  ready 
5  for  ei;ery  ^oo<Z  ivork  ;^'  and  all  his  dealings  with  oMer^ 
must  show  the  heavenly  trinciple,  which  dwells  and 
works  in  his  heart. 


lesson    XI. — POPULAR    GOVERNMENT. DR.  SHARP. 

[Marked  for  Emphasis.] 

The  real  glory  and  prosperity  of  a  nation  does  not  con- 
sist in  the  hereditary  rank  or  titled  privileges  of  a  very 
small  class  in  the  community ;  in  the  great  wealth  of  the 
few,  and  the  great  poverty  of  the  many  ;  in  the  splendid 
5  palaces  of  nobles,  and  the  wretched  huts  of  a  numerous  and 
half-famished  peasantry.  No  !  such  a  state  of  things  may 
give  pleasure  to  proud,  ambitious,  and  selfish  minds,  but 
there  is  nothing  here  on  which  the  eye  of  a  patriot  can 
rest  with  unmingled  satisfaction.  In  his  deliberate  judg- 
10  ment, 

"7ZZ  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  ivealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay ; 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish  or  may  fade  ; 
A  BREATH  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made : 
15  But  a  BOLD  PEASANTRY,  their  country's  pride, 

When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied?^ 

It  is  an  intelligent,  virtuous,  free,  and  exte7isive  popula- 
tion, able,  by  their  talents  and  industry,  to  obtain  a  com- 
petent support,  which  constitutes  the  strength  and  pros- 

20  perity  of  a  nation. 

It  is  not  the  least  advantage  of  a  popular  government, 
that  it  brings  into  operation  a  greater  amount  of  talent 
than  any  other.  It  is  acknowledged  by  every  one,  that 
the  occurrence  of  great  events  awakens  the  dormant  ener- 

25  gies  of  the  human  mind,  and  calls  forth  the  most  splendid 
and  poioerful  abilities.  It  was  the  momentous  question, 
whether  your  country  should  be  free  and  independent, 
and  the  declaration  that  it  was  so,  which  gave  to  you  ora" 
tors,  statesmen,  and  generals,  whose  names  aU  future  ages 

30,  will  delight  to  honor. 

The  characters  of  men  are  generally  moulded  by  thw 
circumstances  in  which  they  are  placed.  They  seldom 
put  forth  their  strength,  without  some  powerfully  exciting 
motives.    But  what  motives  can  thev  have  to  qualify  thero- 


W  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnoOL  [PART   K. 

selves  for  stations,  from  which  they  are  forever  excluded 
on  account  of  plkbeian  extuaction?  How  can  they  bo 
expected  to  prepare  themselves  for  the  service  of  their 
country y  when  they  know  that  their  services  would  be  re- 
6  JECTED,  because,  unfortunately,  they  dissent  from  the 
established  religion^  and  have  hoiiesty  to  avow  it ! 

But  in  a  country  like  ouus,  where  the  most  obscure  in 
dividuals  in  society  ^ay,  by  their  talents^  virtues^  ^nk 
public  services^  rise  to  the  most  honorahle  disiinctionsy  and 

10  attaiii  to  the  highest  ojficcs  which  the  people  can  give,  the 
most  ejfectual  inducements  arc  presented.  It  is  indeed 
true,  that  only  ^feio  who  run  in  the  race  for  political  honor, 
can  obtain  the  prize.  But,  althouo^h  many  come  short, 
yet  the  exertions  and  the  progress  which  they  make,  are 

15  7w?/  lost  either  on  themselves  or  society.  The  suitableness 
of  their  talents  and  characters  for  some  other  important 
station,  may  have  been  perceived  ;  at  least  the  cultivation 
of  their  minds,  and  the  effort  to  acquire  an  honorable  repu^ 
tation,  may  render  them  active  and  iiseful  members  of  the 

20  community.  These  are  some  of  the  benefits  peculiar  to  a 
POPULAR  government;  benefits  which  we  have  long  en- 
joyed.   

LESSON    Xn. REVERENCE    FOR    LAW.-^J.  HOPKINSON. 

From  a  Eulogium  on  Hon.  Bushrod  Washington. —  Trial  of  Gen- 
eral Bright,  for  ohstrucling  the  execution  of  a  'process  of  thb 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States. 

[The  type  indicates,  as  before,  the  degree  of  Ernphasis.] 

Mark  the  conduct  of  Pennsylvania,  at  this  unprecede?it' 
ed,  trying  crisis.  Can  she  recede  from  her  absolute  asscr- 
tion  of  right  ?  Can  she  take  back  her  unqualified  7«6- 
naces  of  resistance,  and  projnises  of  protection  to  hei- 
5  citizens  ? — A  judge,  in  himself  a  weak  and  helpless  i?idi- 
viduul,  supported  by  7io  power  but  the  law,  pronounces  a 
sentence  of  criminal  condemnation  upon  the  assembled 
REPRESENTATIVES  of  the  people, — upon  their  supreme  ex- 
ecutive authority  ;  upon  THEMSELVES;  and  orders 

10  the  minister  of  their  will,  surrounded  by  a  military  force 
under  his  command,  to  a  COMMON  GAOL. — And  this 
is  submitted  to  with  a  reverential  awe  ;  not  a  murmur 
from  the  prisoner  ;  not  a  movement  by  the  people,  to  restut 
him   from   a  punishment  inflicted  upon  him  for  obeying 

15  their  mandates,  for  sustaining  their  authority,  and  defend" 


FART   n.]  READETl    AND    SPEAKER.  9] 

ing  tlieir  interests. — And  why  ? — Because  the  law  h^ 

spoken, — il  was  the  judgment  of  tlie  LAW. 

The  people  weTe  laise  and  virtuous ;  they  loved  their 
cou7itry  above  all  things ;  and  to  her  they  loillingly  sur- 
5  rendered  their  strength,  their  passions,  their  pride,  and 
their  interest.  A  jury  of  Pennsylvania,  instructed  and 
convinced  that  the  supremacy  of  the  law  had  been  violat- 
ed, gave  2ip  the  offenders, — their  fcllo^v-citizeiis,  respected, 
and  WORTHY  of  respect, — to  its  penalties. —  WJiat  a  judge  ! 

iO  — how  FEARLESS  in  his  duty  ! — What  a  people  !  how 
magnanimous  in  their  submission  !  How  icorthy  of  each 
other  !  No  proud  and  passionate  assertion  of  sovereignty  ; 
no  violent  menaces  of  iiisultcd  power;  no  rebellions  defiance 
of  the  federal  authority ;  no  inflammatory  combinations  to 

15  resist  it ;  and  to  shatter,  in  their  madiiess,  the  leautifid 
fabric  of  our  Unio7i. 

In  short,  no  nullification, — a  neiv  and  portentous  word, 
— but  a  calm  and  noble  submission  to  the  concentrated 
power  of  ALL  the  States,  in  a  government  made  and  adopted 

20  by  all;  which  all  are  bound,  by  their  solemn  and  pledged 
faith,  by  their  hopes  of  peace,  safety,  and  happiness,  to 
maintain  and  obey. 

It  is  only  by  such  efforts  of  patriotism  that  this  great 
and  growing  Republic  can  be  preserved.     If,  whenever  the 

25  yride  of  a  state  is  offended,  or  her  selfishness  rebuked,  she 
may  assume  an  attitude  of  defiance,  may  pour  her  rash 
and  angry  menaces  on  her  confederated  sisters,  may  claim 
a  sovereig7ity  altogether  indepeiident  of  them,  and  ac- 
knowledge herself  to  be  bound  to  the  Union  by  no  ties  but 

30  such  as  she  may  dissolve  :ii  pleasure;  we  do  indeed  hold 
our  political  existence  by  a  most  precarious  tenure ;  and 
ihefutitre  destinies  of  our  country  are  as  dark  and  wicer' 
tain,  as  the  past  have  been  happy  and  gloriotis. 

Happy  is  that  country,  and  only  t?iat,  where  the  laws 

35  are  not  only  J2tst  and  eqztal,  but  supreme  and  irresistible ; 
— where  selfish  interests  and  elisor derly  passions  are  curbed 
by  an  arm  to  which  they  must  submit. — We  look  back 
with  horror  and  affright  to  the  dark  and  troubled  ages, 
when  a  cruel  and  gloomy  superstition  tyrannized  over  the 

40  people  of  Eitrope  ;  dreaded  alike  by  kings  and  people;  by 
governments  and  individuals  ;  before  which  the  law  had 
NO  FORCE ;  justice  no  respect  ;  and  mercy  no  influence. 
The  sublime  precepts  of  morality,  the  kind  and  eiidearing 
cJiarities ;  the  true  and  rational  reverence  for  a  bountiful 


92       .  AMERICAN    C0MM0N-S:H0OL  [PART   H. 

Creator^  which  are  the  elements  and  the  life  of  our  reli* 
giojiy  were  traiv'pled  upon  in  the  reckless  career  of  ambi- 
tion, PRIDE,  and  the  lust  of  powe*.  Nor  was  it  vncch 
better  when  the  arm  of  the  warrior^  and  the  sharpness  of 
6  his  ^rorcZ,  determined  every  question  of  Wo-Zi^;  and  held 
the  weak  in  boiidage  to  the  strong ;  and  the  revengeful 
feuds  of  the  greats  involved^  in  ofie  common  ruiii,  them- 
selves  and  their  knfnblest  vassals. —  Tbese  disastrous  days 
are  gone,  tiever  to  return.  There  is  710  power  but  the 
10  LAW,  which  is  the  power  of  ALL ;  and  those  who  admi7i' 
ister  it  are  the  masters  and  the  ministers  of  ALL. 


LESSON    XIII. birthplace    OF    LIBERTY.— 7PROF.    STUART. 

[This,  and  the  two  following  pieces,  are  intended  to  be  marked  by 
the  reader,  as  an  exercise  in  applying  the  rules  of  Emphasis.] 

The  members  of  the  legislature  "^  now  before  me,  are 
convened  on  holy  ground.  Here  is  the  sacred  place 
\vhere  liberty,  in  its  best  form,  first  struggled  into  being. 
This  is  the  very  spot  where  the  pulsation  of  the  heart  of 
5  true  freedom  began  to  beat.  I,  who  was  born  and  nur- 
tured in  another  state,  may  venture  to  say  this  without 
the  appearance  of  self-gratulation.  The  remembrance  of 
early  days  rushes  upon  my  mind,  and  rekindles  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  I  then  read  the  story  of  your  efforts 

10  and  sufferings  on  this  ground,  in  behalf  of  your  country's 
freedom,  while  I  bedewed  with  tears  the  pages  which  re- 
corded them.  Increasing  years  have  not  diminished  that 
feeling ;  and  it  has  been  greatly  augmented  by  a  personal 
knowledge  of  this  place  and  people.     It  is  now  my  most 

15  fervent  supplication  to  God,  that  here,  where  freedom  be- 
gan, her  reign  may  continue  down  to  the  end  of  time. 
Here  may  the  flame  of  Christian  liberty,  which  has  been 
kindled,  burn  brighter  and  brighver,  until  states  and  em- 
pires shall  be  no  more ! 

20  But  if,  in  the  inscrutable  purposes  of  Heaven,  and  in 
judgment  to  our  race,  the  cause  of  Freedom  must  again 
sink;  if  she  is  to  be  wounded  in  every  part,  and  the  cur- 
rent of  her  blood  to  be  drained  from  every  vein  and  artery 
of  the  body, — may  the   seat  of  life  here   still  remain  in 

25  action !  But  if  even  the  very  heart  too  must  be  drained 
of  its  last  drop,  and  life  cease  to  beat,  then  let  the  funeral 
[uies  of  human  happiness  be  kept  in  solemn  sadness; 


Of  Massachusetts, 


^1 


PART    Il.J  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  SJ 

let  the  heavens  be  hung  with  black,  and  the  earth  clothed 
with  habiliments  of  niouniitJLSin  token  of  irrief,  that  the 
liberty  of  man  is  no  more. 


'D' 


LESSON    XIV. CHARACTER    OF   WASHINGTON. Smyth, 

[To  be  marked  for  Emphasis^  by  the  reader.] 

To  the  historian,  few  characters  appear  so  little  to  have 
shared  the  common  frailties  and  imperfections  of  human 
nature,  as  that  of  Washington.  There  are  but  few  par- 
ticulars that  can  be  mentioned  even  to  his  disadvantage. 
6  Instances  may  be  found  where,  perhaps,  it  may  be  thought 
that  he  was  decisive  to  a  degree  that  partook  of  severity 
and  harshness,  or  even  more ;  but  how  innumerable  were 
the  decisions  which  he  had  to  make ! — how  difficult  and 
how  important,  through  the  eventful  series  of  twenty  years 
10  of  command  in  the  cabinet  or  the  field ! 

Let  it  be  considered  what  it  is  to  have  the  management 
of  a  revolution,  and  afterwards  the  maintenance  of  order. 
Where  is  the  man  who,  in  the  history  of  our  race,  has  ever 
succeeded  in  attempting  successively  the  one  and  the 
15  other? — not  on  a  small  scale,  a  petty  state  in  Italy,  or 
among  a  horde  of  barbarians ;  but  in  an  enlightened  age, 
when  it  is  not  easy  for  one  man  to  rise  superior  to  an- 
other, and  in  the  eyes  of  mankind, — 

"  A  kingdom  for  a  stage, 
20  And  monarchs  to  behokl  the  swelling  scene." 

The  plaudits  of  his  country  were  continually  sounding 
in  his  ears  ;  and  neither  the  judgment  nor  the  virtues  of 
the  man  were  ever  disturbed.  Armies  were  led  to  the 
field  with  all  the  enterprise  of  a  hero,  and  then  dismissed 

25  with  all  the  equanimity  of  a  philosopher.     Power  was  ac- 
cepted, was  exercised,  was  resigned,  precisely  at  the  ma 
ment  and  in  the  way  that  duty  and  patriotism  directed. 
Whatever  was  the  difficulty,  the  trial,  the  temptation,  or 
the  danger,  there  stood  the  scldier  and  the  citizen,  eter- 

30  nally  the  same,  without  fear  and  without  reproach,  and 
there  was  the  man  who  was  not  only  at  all  times  virtuous, 
but  at  all  times  wise. 

The  merit  of  Washington  by  no  means  ceases  with  his 
campaigns  ;  it  becomes,  after  the  peace  of  17S.3,  even  more 

35  striking  than  before  ;  for  the  same  man  who,  for  the  sake 
of  liberty,  was  ardent  enough  to  resist  the  power  of  Great 
Britain,  and  hazard  every  thing  on  this  side  the  grave,  at 
a  later  period  had  to  be  temperate  enough  to  resist  the 


94  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  O. 

same  spirit  of  liberty,  when  it  was  mistaking  its  proper 
objects,  and  transgressing  its  appointed  limits. 

The  American  revolution  was  to  approach  him,  and  he 
was  to  kindle  in  the  general  flame:  the  French  revolution 
5  was  to  reach  him,  and  to  consume  but  too  many  of  his 
countrymen ;  and  his  "  oion  ethereal  mould,  incapable  of 
stain,  was  to  purge  off  the  baser  fire  victorious."  But  all 
this  was  done  :  he  might  have  been  pardoned,  though  lie 
had  failed  amid  the  enthusiasm  of  those  around  him,  and 

10  when  liberty  was  the  delusion ;  but  the  foundations  of  the 
moral  world  were  shaken,  and  not  the  understanding  of 
Washington. 

As  a  ruler  of  mankind,  he  may  be  proposed  as  a  model. 
Deeply  impressed  with  the  original  rights  of  human  na- 

15  ture,  he  never  forgot  that  the  end,  and  meaning,  and  aim, 
of  all  just  government,  was  the  happiness  of  the  people  ; 
and  he  never  exercised  authority  till  he  had  first  taken 
care  to  put  himself  clearly  in  the  right.  His  candor,  his 
patience,  his  love  of  justice,  were  unexnmpled ;  and  this, 

20  though  naturally  he  was  not  patient, — much  otherwise, — 
highly  irritable. 

He  therefore  deliberated  well,  and  placed  his  subject  in 
every  point  of  view,  before  he  decided ;  and  his  under- 
standing  being   correct,  he    was    thus   rendered,  by    the 

^5  nature  of  his  faculties,  his  strength  of  mind,  and  his  prin- 
ciples, the  man,  of  all  others,  to  whom  the  interests  of  his 
fellow-creatures  might,  with  most  confidence,  be  intrusted; 
— that  is,  he  was  the  first  of  the  rulers  of  mankind. 


LESSON  XV. IMPRESSIONS  FROM  HISTORY.— G.  C.  VERPLANCK. 

From  a  Discourse  before  the  New  York  Historical  Society. 

[To  be  marlced  for  Emphasis,  by  the  reader.] 
The  study  of  the  history  of  most  other  nations,  fills  the 
mind  with  sentiments  not  unlike  those  which  the  Ameri- 
can traveller  feels,  on  entering  the  venerable  and  lofty  ca- 
thedral of  some   proud  old  city  of  Europe.     Its  solemn 

5  grandeur,  its  vastness,  its  obscurity,  strike  awe  to  his 
heart.  From  the  richly  painted  windows,  filled  with 
sacred  emblems,  and  strange,  antique  forms,  a  dim  reli- 
gious light  falls  around.  A  thousand  recollections  of  ro- 
mance and  poetry,  and  legendary  story,  come  thronging  in 

10  upon  him.  He  is  surrounded  by  the  tombs  of  the  mighty 
dead,  rich  with  the  labors  of  ancient  art,  and  emblazoned 
with  the  pomp  of  heraldry. 


►ART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  95 

What  names  does  he  read  upon  them  ?  Those  of 
princes  and  nobles  who  are  now  remembered  only  foi 
their  vices ;  and  of  sovereigns,  at  whose  death  no  tears 
were  shed,%nd  whose  memories  lived  not  an  hour  in  the 
5  affections  of  their  people.  There,  too,  he  sees  othei 
names,  long  familiar  to  nim  for  their  guilty  or  ambiguous 
fame.  There  rest,  the  blood-stained  soldier  of  fortune,— 
the  orator,  who  was  ever  the  ready  apologist  of  tyranny, 
— great   scholars,  who   were  the  pensioned   flatterers  of 

10  power,  and  poets,  who  profaned  the  high  gift  of  genius,  to 
pamper  the  vices  of  a  corrupted  court. 

Our  own  history,  on  the  contrary,  like  that  poetical 
temple  of  fame,  reared  by  the  imagination  of  Chaucer, 
and  decorated  by  the  taste  of  Pope,  is  almost  exclusively 

15  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  the  truly  great.  Or  rather, 
like  the  Pantheon  of  Rome,  it  stands  in  calm  and  severe 
beauty,  amid  the  ruins  of.  ancient  magnificence,  and  the 
**  toys  of  modern  state."  Within,  no  idle  ornament  en- 
cumbers its  bold  simplicity.     The  pure  light  of  heaven 

20  enters  from  above,  and  sheds  an  equal  and  serene  radiance 
around.  As  the  eye  wanders  about  its  extent,  it  beholds 
the  unadorned  monuments  of  brave  and  good  men,  who 
have  greatly  bled  or  toiled  for  their  country,  or  it  rests  on 
votive  tablets,  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  best  bcne- 

25  factors  of  mankind. 

"Patriots  are  here,  in  Freedom's  battles  slam, 
.  Priests,  whose  long  lives  were  closed  without  a  stain, 
Bards  worthy  Him  who  breathed  the  ix>et's  mind, 
Founders  of  arts  that  dignify  mankind, 
30  And  lovers  of  our  race,  whose  labors  gave 

Their  names  a  memory  that  defies  the  grave." 

Doubtless,  this  is  a  subject  upon  which  we  may  be  just- 
ly proud.     But  there  is  another  consideration,  which,  if  it 
did  not  naturally  arise  of  itself,  would  be  pressed  upon  us 
35  by  the  taunts  of  European  criticism. 

What,  it  is  asked,  has  this  nation  done  to  repay  the 
world  for  the  benefits  we  have  received  from  others  ? 

Is  it  nothing  for  the  universal  good  of  mankind  to  have 
carried  into  successful  operation  a  system  of  self-govern- 
40  ment,  uniting  personal  liberty,  freedom  of  opinion,  and 
equality  of  rights,  with  national  power  and  dignity;  such 
as  had  before  existed  only  in  the  Utopian  dreams  of  phil- 
osophers ?  Is  it  nothing,  in  moral  science,  to  have  antici- 
pated in  sober  reality,  numerous  plans  of  refonn  in  ciril. 


96  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

and  criminal  jurisprudence,  which  are,  but  now,  received 
as  plausible  theories  by  the  politicians  and  economists  of 
Europe  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  have  been  able  to  call  forth,  on 
every  emergency,  either  in  war  or  peace,  ^ody  of  talents 
6  always  equal  to  the  difliculty  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  have,  in 
less  than  half  a  century,  exceedingly  improved  the  sci- 
ences of  political  economy,  of  law,  and  of  medicine,  with 
all  their  auxiliary  branches ;  to  have  enriched  human 
knowledge  by  the  accumulation  of  a  great  mass  of  useful 

10  facts  and  observations,  and  to  have  augmented  the  power 
and  the  comforts  of  civilized  man,  by  miracles  of  mechan- 
ical invention?  Is  it  nothing  to  have  given  the  world  ex- 
amples of  disinterested  patriotism,  of  political  wisdom,  of 
public  virtue  ;  of  learning,  eloquence,  and  valor,  never 

15  exerted  save  for  some  praiseworthy  end  ?  It  is  sufficient 
to  have  briefly  suggested  these  considerations :  every 
mind  would  anticipate  me  in  filling  up  the  details. 

No, — Land  of  Liberty !  thy  children  have  no  cause  to 
blush  for  thee.    What!  though  the  arts  have  reared  few 

20  monuments  among  us,  and  scarce  a  trace  of  the  Muse's 
footstep  is  found  in  the  paths  of  our  forests,  or  along  the 
banks  of  our  rivers ;  yet  our  soil  has  been  consecrated  by 
the  blood  of  heroes,  and  by  great  and  holy  deeds  of  peace. 
Its  wide  extent  has  become  one  vast  temple,  and  hallowed 

25  asylum,  sanctified  by  the  prayers  and  blessings  of  the  per- 
secuted of  every  sect,  and  the  wretched  of  all  nations. 

Land  of  Refuge, — Land  of  Benedictions  !  Thosp  pr^Y" 
ers  still  arise,  and  they  still  are  heard :  "  May  peace  b^^ 
within  thy  walls,  and  plenteousness  within  thy  palaces ! " 

30  **  May  there  be  no  decay,  no  leading  into  captivity,  and  no 
complaining  in  thy  streets  !"  '*  May  truth  flourish  out  of 
the  earth,  and  righteousness  look  down  from  heaven  I" 


LESSON    XVI. THE    GENIUS    OF    DEATH. Croly. 

pVIarked  for  Emphasis^  as  applied  to  Poetry.] 

What  is  Death  ?     *T  is  to  be  free  ! 

No  more  to  Zot'c,  or  hope^  or  fear — 
To  joi7i  the  great  equality : 
All  alike  are  humble  there ! 
The  mighty  grave 
Wraps  lord  and  slave  ; 
Nor  pride  nor  poverty  dares  come 
Within  that  refuge-hotcsBf  the  tomb  ! 


PAET    n.]  READER    AND    SrEAKER.  97 

Spirit  with  the  drooping  icings 

And  the  ever  wctping  eye, 
ThoiL  of  ALL  earth's  KINGS  art  KING ! 
Empires  at  tliy  footstool  lie  ! 
5  Beneath  thee  strewed 

Their  multitude 
Sinli^  like  waves  upon  the  shore : 
Storms  shall  never  rouse  them  more  ! 

What  *s  the  grandeur  of  the  earth 
10  To  the  grandeur  round  thy  throne  ! 

Riches^  glory^  beauty^  birth, 

To  thy  kingdom  all  have  gone. 
Before  thee  stand 
The  wondroiis  band  ; 
15  Bards,  heroes,  sages,  side  by  side, 

Who  darkened  nations  when  they  died  ! 

Earth  has  hosts  ;  but  tho7c  canst  show 

Many  a  MILLION  for  her  one  ; 
Through  thy  gates  the  mortal  flow 
20  Has  for  countless  years  roU'd  on  : 

Back  from  the  tomb 
No  step  has  come  ; 
There  fix' d,  till  the  last  thunder's  souivd 
Shall  bid  thy  prisoners  be  unbound  ^ 


lesson    XVII. THE    DEEP. J.  G.  C.  BRAINAR0. 

[To  be  marked  for  Emphasis,  by  the  i*eader.) 

There  's  beauty  in  the  deep  : — 

The  wave  is  bluer  than  the  sky; 

And  though  the  light  shine  bright  on  \iigh, 

More  softly  do  the  sea-gems  glow, 
5         That  sparkle  in  the  depths  below ; 

The  rainbow's  tints  are  only  made 

When  on  the  waters  they  are  laid  ; 

And  sun  and  moon  most  sweetly  shine 

Upon  the  ocean's  level  brine. — 
10  There  's  beauty  in  the  deep. 

There  's  music  in  the  deep : 
It  is  not  in  the  surfs  rough  roar, 
Nor  in  the  whispering,  shelly  shore,— 
They  are  but  earthly  sounds,  that  tell 
9 


jyiB  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAkT  H 

How  little  of  the  sea-nymph's  shell, 
That  sends  its  loud,  clear  note  abroad, 
Or  winds  its  softness  through  the  flood, 
Echoes  through  groves  with  coral  gay, 
5         And  dies,  on  spongy  banks  away  ! — 

There  's  music  in  the  deep. 

• 

There 's  quiet  in  the  deep : 
Above,  let  tides  and  tempests  rave, 
And  earth-born  whirlwinds  wake  the  wave , 
10         Above,  let  care  and  fear  contend, 
With  sin  and  sorrow  to  the  end  : 
Here,  far  beneath  the  tainted  foam, 
That  frets  above  our  peaceful  home, 
We  dream  in  joy,  and  wake  in  love, 
15         Nor  know  the  rage  that  yells  above. — 

There  's  quiet  in  the  deep. 


LESSON    XVllI. POPE    AND    DRYDEN. JohlSOlU 

[This  piece  is  marked  in  application  of  the  rules  of  InftectimL 
stated  in  Part  L,  ^  viii.,  page  30.] 

Pope  professed  to  have  learned  his  poetry  from  Dr^den, 
whom,  whenever  an  opportunity  was  presented,  he  praised 
through  his  whole  life  with  unvaried  liberality ;  and,  per- 
haps, his  character  may  receive  some  illustration,  if  he  be 
5  compared  with  his  master. 

Integrity  of  understanding,  and  nicety  of  discernment, 
were  not  allotted  in  a  less  proportion  to  Dr^'^den  than  to 
Pope.  The  rectitude  of  Dryden's  mind  was  sufficiently 
shown  by  the  dismission  of  his  poetical  prejudices,  and 

10  the  rejection  of  unnatural  thoughts  and  rugged  numbers. 
But  Dryden  never  desired  to  apply  all  the  judgment  that 
he  had.  He  wrote,  and  professed  to  write,  merely  for  the 
people  ;  and  when  he  pleased  others,  he  contented  him- 
self.     He^  spent   no   time   in   struggles  -to   rouse    latent 

15  powers;  he  never  attempted  to  make  that  better  which 
was  already  good,  nor  often  to  mend  what  he  must  have 
known  to  be  faulty.  He  wrote,  as  he  tells  us,  with  very 
little  consideration :  when  occasion  or  necessity  called 
upon  him,  he  poured  out  what  the  present  moment  hap- 

20  pened  to  supply,  and,  when  once  it  had  passed  the  pr^ss, 
ejected  it  from  his  mind  ;  for,  when  he  had  no  pecuniary 
interest  he  had  no  further  solicitude. 


?ART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  M 

Pope  was  not  content  to  satisfy ;  he  desired  to  excel,  and 
therefore  always  endeavored  to  do  his  best ;  he  did  not 
court  the  candor,  but  dared  the  jiidj^ent  of  his  reader, 
and,  expectinor  no  indulgence  from  others,  he  showed  none 
5  to  himself.  He  examined  lines  and  words  with  minute 
and  punctilious  observation,  and  retouched  every  part  with 
indefatigable  diligence,  till  he  had  left  nothing  to  be  for- 
given. 

For  this  reason  he  kept  his  pieces  very  long  in  his 

10  hands,  while  he  considered  and  reconsidered  them.  The 
only  poems  which  can  be  supposed  to  have  been  written 
with  such  regard  to  the  times  as  might  hasten  their  publi- 
cation, were  the  two  satires  of  Thirty-eight :  of  which 
Dodsley  told  me,  that  they  were  brought  to  him  by  the 

15  author,  that  they  might  be  fairly  copied.  "  Every  line," 
said  he,  "  was  then  written  twice  6ver ;  I  gave  him  a 
clean  transcript,  which  he  sent  some  time  afterwards  to 
me  for  the  press,  with  every  line  written  twice  over  a 
second  time." 

20  His  declaration,  that  his  care  for  his  works  ceased  al 
their  publication,  was  not  strictly  triie.  His  parental  at- 
tention never  abandoned  them  ;  what  he  found  amiss  in 
the  first  edition,  he  silently  corrected  in  those  that  f51- 
lowcd.     He  appears  to  have  revised  the  Iliad,  and  freed 

25  it  from  some  of  its  imperfections  ;  and  the  Essay  mi  Criti' 
cism  received  many  improvements,  after  its  first  appear- 
ance. It  will  seldom  be  found  that  he  altered  without 
adding  clearness,  elegance,  or  vigor.  Pope  had  perhaps 
the  judgment  of  Dryden  ;  but   Dryden  certainly  wanted 

30  the  diligence  of  Pope. 

In  acquired  knowledge,  the  superiority  must  be  allowed 
to  Dr;^den,  whose  education  was  more  scholastic,  and 
who,  before  he  became  an  author,  had  been  allowed  more 
time  for  study,  with  better   means  of  information.     His 

36  mind  has  a  larger  range,  and  he  collects  his  images  and 
illustrations  from  a  more  extensive  circuni  fere  nee  of  sci- 
ence. Dryden  knew  more  of  man  in  his  general  nature, 
and  Pope  in  his  local  manners.  The  notions  of  Dryden 
were  formed  by  comprehensive  speculation,  and  those  of 

40  Pope  by  minute  attention.  There  is  more  dignity  in 
the  knowledge  of  Dryden,  and  more  certainty  in  that 
of  P6pe. 

P6etrv  was  not  the  sole  praise  of  either :  for  both  ex- 


100  AMERICAN    COMMON-BCIIOOL  [PART   IL 

celled  likewise  in  pr6se :  but  Pope  did  not  borrow  his 
prose  from  his  predecessor.  The  style  of  Dryden  is  ca- 
pricious and  varied  ;  that  of  Pope  is  cautious  and  uui- 
forin.  Dryden  obeys  the  motions  of  his  own  mind ;  Popfe 
6  constrains  his  mind  to  his  own  rules  of  composition. 
Dryden  is  sometimes  vehement  and  rapid ;  Pope  is  al- 
ways sm6oth,  uniform,  and  gentle.  Dryden's  page  is  a 
natural  field,  rising  into  inequalities,  and  diversified  by 
the  varied  exuberance  of  abundant  vegetation :  Pope's  is  a 

10  velvet  lawn,  shaven  by  the  sithe  and  levelled  by  the  roller. 

Of  genius,  that  power  which  constitutes  a  poet;  that 

quality  without  which  judgment  is  cold,  and  knowledge  is 

inert;  that  energj'-  which  collects,  combines,  amplifies,  and 

animates ;  the  superiority  must,  with  some  hesitation,  be 

15  allowed  to  Dryden.  It  is  not  to  be  inferred,  that  of  this 
poetical' vigor  Pope  had  only  a  little,  because  Dryden  had 
more;  for  every  other  writer  since  Milton,  must  give 
place  to  Pope ;  and  even  of  Dryden  it  must  be  said  that 
if  he  has  brighter  paragraphs,  he  has  not  belter  p6ems. 

20  Dryden's  performances  were  always  hasty,  either  excited 
by  some  external  occasion,  or  extorted  by  domestic  neces- 
sity; he  composed  without  consideration,  and  published 
without  correction.  What  his  mind  could  supply  at  call, 
or  gather  in  one  excursion,  was  all  that  he  sought,  and  all 

25  that  he  gave.  The  dilatory  caution  of  Pope  enabled  him 
to  condense  his  sentiments,  to  multiply  his  images,  and  to 
accumulate  all  that  study  might  produce,  or  chance  might 
supply.  If  the  flights  of  Dryden,  therefore,  are  higher. 
Pope  continues  longer  on  the  wing.     If  of  Dryden's  fire 

30  the  blaze  is  brighter,  of  Pope's  the  heat  is  more  regular 
and  constant.  Dryden  often  surpasses  expectation,  and 
Pope  never  falls  below  it.  Drj'den  is  read  with  frequent 
astonishment,  and  Pope  with  perpetual  delight. 


LESSON  XIX. — THE  PURITANS. — Mucaiday, 
pMarked  for  lnJlectio7is.] 

The  Puritans  were  men  whose  minds  had  derived  a 
peculiar  character  from  the  daily  contemplation  of  supe- 
rior beings  and  eternal  interests.  Not  content  with  ac- 
knowledging, in  general  terms,  an  overruling  Providence, 
6  they  habitually -ascribed  ^very  ev^nt  to  the  will  of  the 
Great  Being,  for  whose  p6wer  nothing  was  too  vast,  for 


fi 


PART   11.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  101 

whose  inspection  nothing"  was  too  minute.  To  kn6w  Him, 
to  serve  Him,  to  enjoy  Him,  was  with  them  the  great  end 
of  existence.  They  rejected  with  contempt  the  ceremo- 
nious homage  which  other  sects  substituted  for  the  pure 
6  worship  of  the  soul.  Instead  of  catching  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  Deity  through  an  obscuring  veil,  they 
aspired  to  gaze  full  on  the  intolerable  brightness,  and  to 
commune  with  Him  face  to  face.  Hence  originated  their 
jcontempt  for  terrestrial  distinctions.     The  difierence  be- 

10  tween  the  greatest  and  meanest  of  mankind,  seemed  to 
vanish,  when  compared  with  the  boundless  interval  which 
separated  the  whole  race  from  Him  on  whom  their  own 
eyes  were  constantly  fixed.  They  recognized  no  title  to 
superiority  but  His  favor;   and  confident  of  that   favor, 

15  they  despised  all  the  accomplishments  and  all  the  digni- 
ties of  the  world.  If  they  were  unacquainted  with  the 
works  of  philosophers  and  poets,  they  were  deeply  r^ad 
in  the  oracles  of  God.  If  their  names  were  not  found  in 
the  registers  of  heralds,  they  felt  assured  that  they  were 

20  recorded  in  the  Book  of  Life.  If  their  steps  were  not 
accompanied  by  a  splendid  train  of  menials,  legions  of 
ministering  angels  had  charge  over  them.  Their  palaces 
were  houses  not  made  with  hands :  their  diadems,  crowns 
of  glory  which  should  never  fade  away ! 

25  On  the  rich  and  the  eloquent,  on  nobles  and  priests, 
they  looked  down  with  contempt :  for  they  esteemed 
themselves  rich  in  a  more  precious  treasure,  and  eloquent 
in  a  more  sublime  language,  nobles  by  the  right  of  an 
earlier  creation,  and  priests  by  the  imposition  of  a  migh- 

30  tier  hand.  The  very  meanest  of  them  was  a  being  to 
whose  fate  a  mysterious  and  terrible  importance  belonged, 
-  -on  whose  slightest  action  the  spirits  of  light  and  dark- 
ness looked  with  artxious  interest,  who  had  been  destined, 
before  heaven  and  earth  were  created,  to  enjoy  a  felicity 

35  which  should  continue  when  heaven  and  earth  should 
have  passed  away. 

Events  which  short-sighted  politicians  ascribed  to  earth- 
ly causes,  had  been  ordained  on  his  account.  For  his 
sake  empires  had  risen,  and  flourished,  and  decayed.    For 

40  his  sake  the  Almighty  had  proclaimed  his  will  by  the  pen 

of  the  evangelist,  and  the  harp  of  the  prophet.     He  had 

been  rescued  by  no  common  deliverer  from  the  grasp  of 

n6  common  f6e.     He  had  been  ransomed  by  the  sweat  of 

9* 


102  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  II. 

n6  vdlgar  dgony,  by  the  blood  of  no  eiirihly  sacrifice.  Il 
\<ras  for  hiiu  that  the  sun  had  been  darkened,*  that  tlie 
rocks  had  been  rent,  that  the  dead  htul  arisen,  that  all  na- 
ture had  shuddered  at  the  sufferings  of  her  expiring 
6  God  ! 

Thus  the  Puritan  was  made  up  of  two  different  m^n, 
the  one  all  self-abasement,  penitence,  gratitude,  piission  ; 
the  other  proud,  calm,  inflexible,  sagacious.  He  pros- 
trated himself  in  the  dust  before  his  Maker  :  but  he. set 

lO  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  the  king.  In  his  devotional  re- 
tirement, he  prayed  with  convulsions,  and  groans,  and 
tears.  He  was  half  maddened  by  glorious  or  terrible  il- 
lusions. He  heard  the  l)^res  of  angels,  or  the  tempting 
whispers  of  fiends.     He  caught  a  gleam  of  the  beatific 

15  vision,  or  woke  screaming  from  dreams  of  everlasting  fire. 
Like  Vane,  he  thought  himself  intrusted  with  the  sceptre 
of  the  millennial  year.  Like  Fleetwood,  he  cried  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  soul  that  God  had  hid  his  face  from  him. 
But  when  he  took  his  seat  in  the  council,  or  girt  on  his 

20  sword  for  war,  these  tempestuous  workings  of  the  soul 
had  left  no  perceptible  trace  behind  them.  People  who 
saw  nothing  of  the  godly  but  their  uncouth  visages,  and 
heard*  nothing  from  them  but  their  groans  and  their 
hymns,  might  laugh  at  them.     But  those  had  little  reason 

25  to  laugh  Avho  encountered  them  in  the  h^ll  of  debate,  or 
in  the  field  of  battle. 

The  Puritans  brought  to  civil  and  military  affairs  a 
coolness  of  judgment,  and  an  immutability  of  purpose, 
which  some  writers  have  thought  inconsistent  with  their 

30  religious  zeal,  but  Avhich  were  in  fact  the  necessary  effects 
of  it.  The  intensity  of  their  feelings  on  one  subject, 
made  them  tranquil  on  every  other.  One  overpowering 
sentiment  had  subjected  to  itself  pfty  and  hatred,  ambition 
and  fear.     Death   had    lost   its  terrors,  and  pleasure   its 

35  charms.  They  had  their  smiles  and  their  tears,  their 
raptures  and  their  sorrows,  but  n6t  for  the  things  of  this 
world.  Enthusiasm  had  made  them  stoics,  had  cleared 
their  minds  from  every  vulgar  passion  and  prejudice,  and 
raised  them  ab6ve  the  influence  of  danger  and  of  cor- 

40  ruption.  

♦  When  an  emphatic  series  causljs,  thus,  a  succession  of  falling 
'mfl^ctions,  the  jiccond  one  in  each  clause,  falls  lower  than  the  first. 


PART    II.]  RKADER    AND    SPEAKER.  103 

IeSSON    XX. POETRY. CIIANNING. 

[Marked  fur  h'.Jltctions.\ 

We  believe  tiiat  poetry,  far  from  injuring  society,  is  one 
of  the  great  instruments  of  its  refinement  and  exaltation. 
It  lifts  the  mind  above  ordinary  life,  gives  it  a  respite 
from  depressing  cares,  and  awakens  the  consciousness  of 
5  its  affinity  with  what  is  pure  and  noble.  In  its  legitimate 
and  highest  efforts,  it  has  the  same  tendency  and  aim  with 
Christianity ;  that  is,  to  spiritualize  our  nature.  True, 
poetry  has  been  made  the  instrument  of  vice,  the  pander 
of  bad  passions  ;  but  when  genius  thus  stoops,  it  dims  its 

10  fires,  and  parts  with  much  of  its  power ;  and  even  when 
Poetry  is  enslaved  to  licentiousness  and  misanthropy*  she 
cannot  wholly  forget  her  true  vocation.  Strains  of  pure 
feeling,  touches  of  tenderness,  images  of  innocent  happi- 
ness, sympathies  w^ith  what  is  good  in  our  nature,  bursts 

15  of  scorn  or  indignation  at  the  hollowness  of  the  world, 
passages  true  to  our  moral  nature,  often  escape  in  an  im- 
moral work,  and  show  us  how  hard  it  is  for  a  gifted  spirit 
to  divorce  itself  wholly  from  what  is  good. 

Poetry  has  a  natural  alliance  with  our  best  affections. 

20  It  delights  in  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  Outward  ndture 
and  of  the  soul.  It  indeed  portrays  with  terrible  energy 
the  excesses  of  the  passions,  but  they  are  passions  which 
show  a  mighty  nature,  which  are  full  of  power,  which 
commond  awe,  and  excite  a  deep  though  shuddering  s}^m- 

25  pathy.  Its  great  tendency  and  purpose,  is,  to  carry  the 
mind  beyond  and  above  the  beaten,  dusty,  weary  walks 
of  ordinary  life ;  to  lift  it  into  a  purer  element,  and  to 
breathe  into  it  more  profound  and  generous  emotion.  It 
reveals   to  us  the  loveliness   of  nature,  brings  back  the 

30  freshness  of  youthful  feeling,  revives  the  relish  of  sim- 
ple pleasures,  keeps  unquenched  the  enthusiasm  which 
warmed  the  spring-time  of  our  being,  refines  youthfuj 
love,  strengthens  our  interest  in  human  nature,  by  vivid 
delineations  of  its  tenderest  and  loftiest  feelings,  spreads 

35  our  sympathies  over  all  classes  of  society,  knits  us  by 
new  ties  with  universal  being,  and,  through  the  bright- 
ness of  its  prophetic  vi5^ions,  helps  fa,4th  to  lay  hold  on 
the  future  life. 

We  are  aware  mai  ji  i^  objected  to  poetry,  that  it  gives 

40  wrong  views,  and  excites  false  expectations  of  life,  peoples 
the  rnind  with  shadows  and  illusions,  and  builds  up  ima- 


104  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  [PART  D 

^n&tion  on  the  ruins  of  wisdom.  That  there  is  a  wisdom, 
acrainst  which  poetry  wdr«, — the  wisdom  of  the  senses, 
which  makes  physical  comfort  and  gratification  the  su- 
preme gbodj  and  weahh  the  chief  interest  of  life, — we  do 
6  not  den;^ :  nor  do  we  deem  it  the  least  service  which 
poetry  renders  to  mankind,  that  it  redeems  them  from  the 
thraldom  of  this  earthborn  prudence. 

But,  passing  over  this  topic,  we  would  observe,  that  the 
complaint  against  poetry  as  abounding  in  illusion  and  de- 

10  ception   is,  in   the   main,   groundless.      In   many    poems 
there  is  more  of  truth,  than  in  many  histories  and   philo-, 
sophic  theories.     The  fictions  of  genius  are  often  the  ve- 
hicles of  the  sublimest  verities,  and  its  flashes  often  open 
new   regions  of  thought,  and   throw  new    light  on   the 

15  mysteries  of  our  being.  In  poetry  the  letter  is  falsehood, 
but  the  spirit  is  often  profoundest  wisdom.  And  if  truth 
thus  dwells  in  the  boldest  fictions  of  the  poet,  much  more 
may  it  be  expected  in  his  delineations  of  life ;  for  the 
present  life,  which  is  the  first  stage  of  the  immortal  mind, 

20  abounds  in  the  materials  of  poetry,  and  it  is  the  highest 
office  of  the  bard  to  detect  this  divine  element,  among  the 
grosser  pleasures  and  labors  of  our  earthly  being. 

The  present  life  is  not  wholly  prosaic,  precise,  tame,=*^ 
and  finite.     To  the  gifted  eye  it  abounds  in  the  poetic. 

25  The  affections  which  spread  beyond  ourselves,  and  stretch 
far  into  futurity ;  the  workings  of  mighty  passions,  which 
seem  to  arm  the  soul  with  an  almost  superhuman  energy ; 
the  innocent  and  irrepressible  joy  of  infancy ;  the  bloom, 
and  bu6yancy,  and  dazzling  hopes  of  youth ;  the  throb* 

30  bings  of  the  heart  when  it  first  wakes  to  love,  and  dreams 
of  a  happiness  too  vast  for  earth ;  w6man,  with  her  beau- 
ty, and  grace,  and  gentleness,  and  fulness  of  feeling,  and 
depth  of  affection,  and  her  blushes  of  purity,  and  the 
tones  and  looks  which  only  a  mother's  heart  can  inspire ; 

35  — these  are  all  poetical. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  poet  paints  a  life  which  does  net 
exist.  He  only  extracts  and  concentrates,  as  it  were,  life's 
ethereal  essence,  arrdsts  and  condenses  its  v6latile  frk- 
grance,  brings  together  its  scattered  beauties,  and  pro- 

43  16ngs  its  more  refined  but  evanescent  joys ;  and  in  this  he 
does  w^ll ;  for  it  is  g6od  to  feel  that  life  is  not  wholly 

*  A  negative  senf«  .  Tin«j  with  a  rising  miicciion,  has  the 

fiedling  slide  on  its  pc  word  or  clause. 


fART    II.]                            READER    AND    SPEAKER.  IM 

usurped  by  cares  for  subsistence  and   physical  " "  u- 

tions,  but  admits,  in  measures  which  may  be  in  ly 

-  enlarged,  sentiments    and    delij^^hts    worthy  of  a  hij^her 

being.  


LESSON    XXI. — CAUSES    OF    WAR. H.    BINNEY. 

[To  be  marked  for  InfUctions,  by  the  reader.] 

What  are  sufficient  causes  of  war  let  no  man  say,  let 
no  legislator  say,  until  the  question  of  war  is  directly  and 
inevitably  before  him.  Jurists  may  be  permitted  with 
comparative  safety,  to  pile  tome  upon  tome  of  intermina- 
5  ble  disquisition  upon  the  motives,  reasons,  and  causes  of 
just  and  unjust  war.  JMctaphysicians  may  be  suffered 
with  impunity  to  spin  the  thread  of  their  speculations  un- 
til it  is  attenuated  to  a  cobweb ;  but  for  a  body  created  for 
the  government  of  a  great  nation,  and  for  the  adjustment 

10  and  protection  of  its  infinitely  diversified  interests,  it  is 
worse  than  folly  to  speculate  upon  the  causes  of  war,  un- 
til the  great  question  shall  be  presented  for  immediate 
action, — until  they  shall  hold  the  united  question  of  cause, 
motive,  and  present  expediency,  in  the  very  palm  of  their 

15  hands.  War  is  a  tremendous  evil.  Come  when  it  will, 
unless  it  shall  come  in  the  necessary  defence  of  our  na- 
tional security,  or  of  that  honor  under  whose  protection 
national  security  reposes,  it  will  come  too  soon, — too  soon 
for  our  national  prosperitjs — too  soon  for  our  individual 

20  happiness, — too  soon  for  the  frugal,  industrious,  and  vir- 
tuous habits  of  our  citizens, — too  soon,  perhaps,  for  our 
most  precious  institutions.  The  man  who,  for  any  cause, 
save  the  sacred  cause  of  public  security,  which  makes  all 
wars  defensive, — the    man    who,  for  any  cause  but   this, 

25  shall  promote  or  compel  this  final  and  terrible  resort, 
assumes  a  responsibility  second  to  none,  nay,  transcen- 
dantly  deeper  and  higher  than  any,  which  man  can  as- 
sume before  his  fellow-men,  or  in  the  presence  of  God,  his 
Creator.  

LESSON    XXII. FOUNDATION    OF    NATIONAL    CHARACTER.— 

E.    EVERETT. 
[To  be  marked  for  InJlectionSy  by  the  reader.] 

Mental  energy   has  been   equally  diflused  by  sterner 
levellers  than  ever  marched  in  the  van  of  a  revolution,- 
the  nature  of  man  and  the  providence  of  God.     Native 


10(5  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

character,  strengflh,  and  quickness  of  mind,  are  not  of  the 
number  of  disiiiiclions  and  accomplishments,  that  human 
institutions  can  monopolize  within  a  city's  walls.  In  quiet 
times,  they  remain  and  perisli  in  the  obscurity,  to  which  a 
6  false  organization  of  society  consigns  them.  In  danger- 
ous, convulsed,  and  trying  times,  they  spring  up  in  the 
fields,  in  the  village  hamlets,  and  on  the  mountain  tops, 
and  teach  the  surprised  favorites  of  human  law,  that 
bright  eyes,  skilful  hands,  quick  perceptions,  firm  purpose, 

10  and  brave  hearts,  are  not  the  exclusive  appanage  of 
courts. 

Our  popular  institutions  are  favorable  to  intellectual 
improvement,  because  their  foundation  is  in  dear  nature 
They  do  not  consign  the  greater  part  of  the  social  frame? 

15  to  torpidity  and  mortification.  They  send  out  a  vital 
nerve  to  every  member  of  the  community,  by  which  its 
talent  and  power,  great  or  small,  are  brought  into  living 
conjunction  and  strong  sympathy  with  the  kindred  intel- 
lect of  the  nation ;  and  every  impression   on    every  part 

20  vibrates,  with  electric  rapidity,  through  the  whole.     They 
encourage  nature  to  perfect  her  work;  they  make  educa 
tion,  the  soul's  nutriment,  cheap  ;  they  bring  up  remote 
and  shrinking  talent  into  the  cheerful  field  of  competition  . 
in  a  thousand  ways,  they  provide  an  audience  for  lips, 

25  which  nature  has  touched  with  persuasion ;  they  put  a 
lyre  into  the  hands  of  genius ;  they  bestow  on  all  who 
deserve  it,  or  seek  it,  the  only  patronage  worth  having, 
the  only  patronage  that  ever  struck  out  a  spark  of  '*  celes- 
tial fire," — the  patronage  of  fair  opportunity. 

30  This  is  a  day  of  improved  education ;  new  systems 
of  teaching  are  devised ;  modes  of  instruction,  choice  of 
studies,  adaptation  of  text-books,  the  whole  machinery  of 
means,  have  been  brought,  in  our  day,  under  severe  re- 
vision.    But  were  I  to  attempt  to  point  out  the  most  effi- 

i5  cacious  and  comprehensive  improvement  in  education,  the 
engine,  by  which  the  greatest  portion  of  mind  could  be 
brought  and  kept  under  cultivation,  the  discipline  which 
would  reach  farthest,  sink  deepest,  and  cause  the  word  of 
instruction  not  to  spread  over  the  surface,  like  an  artificial 

40  hue,  carefully  laid  on,  but  to  penetrate  to  the  heart  and 
soul  of  its  objects, — it  would  be  popular  institutions. 
Give  the  people  an  object  in  promoting  education,  and  the 
best  Hi  ^  ' ;  will  infallibly  be  suggested  by  that  instinct- 
ive ii.  y  of  our  nature,  which  provides  means  fol 


PillT    II.j  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  107 

great  and  precious  ends.  Give  the  people  an  object  in 
pronioliiig'  education,  and  the  worn  hand  of  labor  will  be 
opened  to  the  last  Airthing,  that  its  children  may  enjoy 
means  denied  to  itself. 


LESSON    XXIII. — SUCCESS    OF    THE    GOSPEL. WAYLAND. 

[To  be  marked  for  Inflections ^  by  the  reader.] 

The  assumption  that  the  cause  of  Christianity  is  de- 
clining, is  utterly  gratuitous.  We  think  it  not  difficult  to 
prove  that  the  distinctive  principles  we  so  much  venerate, 
never  swayed  so  powerful  an  influence  over  the  destinies 
5  of  the  human  race,  as  at  this  very  moment.  Point  us  to 
those  nations  of  the  earth,  to  which  moral  and  intellectual 
cultivation,  inexhaustible  resources,  progress  in  arts,  and 
sagacity  in  council,  have  assigned  the  highest  rank  in  po- 
litical importance;  and  you  point  us  to  nations,  whose  re- 

10  ligious  opinions  are  most  closely  allied  to  those  wo 
cherish.  Besides,  when  was  there  a  period,  since  the 
days  of  the  Apostles,  in  which  so  many  converts  ha  '^ 
been  made  to  these  principles,  as  have  been  made,  both 
from  Christian  and  pagan  nations,  within  the  last  five  and 

15  twenty  years  ?  Never  did  the  people  of  the  saints  of  the 
Most  High,  look  so  much  like  going  forth  in  serious  ear- 
nest, to  take  possession  of  the  kingdom  and  dominion, 
and  the  greatness  of  the  kingdom  under  the  whole  heaven, 
as  at  this  very  day. 

20  But  suppose  the  cause  did  seem  declining,  we  should 
see  no  reason  to  relax  our  exertions,  for  Jesus  Christ  has 
said.  Preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature ;  and  appear- 
ances, whether  prosperous  or  adverse,  alter  not  the  ob- 
ligation to  obey  a  positive  command  of  Almighty  God. 

25  Again,  suppose  all  that  is  afiirmed  were  true.  If  it  must 
be,  let  it  be.  Let  the  dark  cloud  of  infidelity  overspread 
Europe,  cross  the  ocean,  and  cover  our  beloved  land, — let 
nation  after  nation  swerve  from  the  faith, — let  iniquity 
abound,  and  the  love  of  many  wax  cold,  even  until  there 

30  is  on  the  face  of  this  earth,' but  one  pure  church  of  qui 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ, — all  Ave  ask  is,  that  we 
may  be  members  of  that  one  church.  God  grant  that  we 
may  throw  ourselves  into  this  *  Thermopylae  of  the  moral 
universe.* 

35  But  even  then,  we  should  have  no  fear  that  the  church 
of  God  would  ke  exterminated.     We  wou'd  call  to  re- 


108  AMERICAN    COMMON -SCHOOL  [PART   I!. 

membrancc  the  years  of  the  right  hand  of  the  Most  High. 
We  would  recollect  there  was  once  a  time,  when  the 
whole  church  of  Christ,  not  only  could  be,  but  actually 
was,  gathered  with  one  accord  in  one  place.  It  was  then 
6  that  that  place  was  shaken,  as  with  a  rushing  mighty 
wind,  and  they  were  all  filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost. 
That  same  day,  three  thousand  were  added  to  the  Lord. 
Soon  we  hear,  they  have  filled  Jerusalem  with  their  doc- 
trine.— The  church  has  con)menced  her  march  : — Samaria 

10  has,  with  one  accord,  believed  the  gospel ;  Antioch  has 
become  obedient  to  the  (\\ith  ;  the  name  of  Christ  has  bern 
proclaimed  throughout  Asia  Minor ;  the  temgles  of  the 
gods,  as  though  smitten  by  an  invisible  hand,  are  desert- 
ed ;  the  citizens  of  Ephesus  cry  out  in  despair,  Great  is 

15  Diana  of  the  Ephesians ;  licentious  Corinth  is  purified  by 
the  preaching  of  Christ  crucified.  Persecution  puts  forth 
her  arm  to  arrest  the  spreading  superstition  ;  but  the  pro- 
gress of  the  faith  cannot  be  staj-ed.  The  church  of  God 
advances  unhurt  amidst  racks  and  dungeons,  persecutions 

20  and  death;  she  has  entered  Italy,  and  appears  before  the 
wall  of  the  Eternal  City;  idolatry  falls  prostrate  at  her 
approach ;  her  ensign  floats  in  triumph  over  the  capitol  ; 
she  has  placed  upon  her  brow  the  diadem  of  the  Caesars. 


LESSON   XXIV. POWER   OF   THE    SOUL. R.  H.  DANA,  SBN. 

pNIarked  for  tne  application  of  Inflections.] 

Life  in  itself,  it  life  to  all  things  gives : 
For  whatsoe'er  it  looks  on,  that  thing  lives, — 
Becomes  an  acting  being,  ill  or  good ; 
And,  grateful  to  its  giver,  tenders  food 
5     For  the  Soul's  health,  or,  suffering  change  unblest, 
Pours  poison  down  to  rankle  in  the  breast : 
As  is  the  m^n,  e'en  so  it  bears  its  part. 
And  answers,  thought  to  thought,  and  heart  to  h^art. 

Y^s,  man  reduplicates  himself.     You  see, 

10     In  yonder  lake,  reflected  rock  and  tree. 
Each  leaf  at  rest,  or  quivering  in  the  air, 
Now  r^sts,  now  stirs,  as  if  a  breeze  were  there, 
Sweeping  the  crystal  depths.     How  perfect  ^11 ! 
And  see  those  slender  top-boughs  rise  and  (kW ; 

16     The  double  strips  of  silvery  sand  unite 

Ab6ve,  below,  each  grain  distinct  and  bright. 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  109 

— Thou  bird,  that  seek'st  thy  food  upon  that  b6ugh, 

Peck  not  alone ;  that  bird  bel6w,  as  th6u, 

Is  busy  after  food,  and  happy,  t6o  ; 

— They  're  gone  I     B6th,  pleased,  away  together  fl^w 

6         And  see  we  thus  sent  up,  r(jck,  Siind,  and  w<I)od, 
Life,  joy,  and  motion  from  the  sleepy  flood? 
The  world,  O  man,  is  like  that  flood  to  thee : 
Turn  where  thou  wilt,  thyself  in  all  things  see 
Reflected  back.     As  drives  the  blinding  sand 

0     Round  Eg^^pt's  piles,  where'er  thou  tak'st  thy  stand, 
If  that  thy  heart  be  barren,  there  will  sweep 
The  drifting  waste,  like  waves  along  the  deep, 
Fill  up  the  vale,  and  choke  the  laughing  streams 
That  ran  by  grass  and  brake,  Avith  dancing  beams, 

l5     Sear  the  fresh  woods,  and  from  thy  heavy  eye 
Veil  the  wide-shifting  glories  of  the  sky, 
And  one,  sttll,  sightless  level  make  the  earth. 
Like  thy  diill,  lonely,  joyless  Soul, — a  dearth. 

The  rill  is  tuneless  to  his  ear  who  feels 
20     No  harmony  within  ;  the  south  wind  steals 

As  silent  as  unseen,  amongst  the  leaves. 

Who  has  no  inward  beauty,  none  perceives, 

Though  all  around  is  beautiful.     Nay,  more, — 

In  nature's  calmest  hour  he  hears  the  roar 
25     Of  winds  and  flinging  waves, — puts  out  the  light, 

When  high  and  angry  passions  meet  in  flight ; 

And,  his  own  spirit  into  tumult  hurled, 

Pie  makes  a  turmoil  of  a  quiet  world: 

The  fiends  of  his  owi  bosom,  people  air 
30     With  kindred  fiends,  that  hunt  him  to  despair. 

Hates  he  his  fellow-men  ?     Why,  then,  he  deems 

'T  is  hate  for  hate : — as  he,  so  each  one  seems. 

S6ul !  fearful  is  thy  power,  which  thus  transfornL 
All  things  into  its  likeness  :  heaves  in  storms 
35     The  strong,  proud  sea,  or  lays  it  down  to  r^st. 
Like  the  hushed  infant  on  its  mother's  breast, — 
Which  gives  each  outward  circumstance  its  hue, 
And  shapes  all  others'  acts  and  thoughts  an^w, 
That  so,  they  j6y,  or  love,  or  hate  impart, 
40     As  j6y,  l^Svc,  hate,  holds  rule  within  the  h^art 
10 


110  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAET   IL 

LESSON    XXV. HYMN    OF    NATURE. — W.  B.  0.  TEABODt 

[To  be  marked  for  InJiections.\ 

God  of  the  earth's  extended  plains  ! 

The  dark  green  fields  contented  lie  : 
The  mountains  rise  like  holy  towers, 

Where  man  might  commune  with  the  sky : 
5         The  tall  cliff  challenges  the  storm 

That  lowers  upon  the  vale  below, 
Where  shaded  fountains  send  their  streams, 

With  joyous  music  in  their  flow. 

God  of  the  dark  and  heavy  deep ! 
10  The  waves  lie  sleeping  on  the  sands, 

Till  the  fierce  trumpet  of  the  storm 

Hath  summon'd  up  their  thundering  bands 
Then  the  white  sails  are  dashed  like  foam, 

Or  hurry,  trembling,  o'er  the  seas,  ^ 

15         Till,  calmed  by  Thee,  the  sinking  gale 
Serenely  breathes.  Depart  in  peace. 

God  of  the  forest's  solemn  shade  ! 

The  grandeur  of  the  lonely  tree. 
That  wrestles  singly  with  the  gale, 
20  Lifts  up  admiring  eyes  to  Thee ; 

But  more  majestic  far  they  stand. 

When,  side  by  side,  their  ranks  they  form 
To  wave  on  high  their  plumes  of  green, 

And  fight  their  battles  with  the  storm. 

25         God  of  the  light  and  viewless  air ! 

WTiere  summer  breezes  sweetly  flow, 
Or,  gathering  in  their  airy  might, 

The  fierce  and  wintry  tempests  blow : 
All, — from  the  evening's  plaintive  sigh, 
30  That  hardly  lifts  the  drooping  flower. 

To  the  wild  whirlwind's  midnight  cry, — 
Breathe  forth  the  language  of  Thy  po^^er 

God  of  the  fair  and  open  sky  ! 
How  gloriously  above  us  springs 
35         The  tented  dome,  of  heavenly  blue, 
Suspended  on  the  rainbow's  rings ! 
Each  brilliant  star  that  sparkles  through. 

Each  gilded  cloud  that  wanders  free 
In  evening's  purple  radiance,  gives 
40  The  beauty  of  its  praise  to  Thee. 


FJl&T   II.]  KKADER    AJ^D    SPEAKER.  Ill 

God  of  the  rolling  orbs  above  ! 

Thy  name  is  written  clearly  bright, 
In  the  warm  day's  unvarying  blaze, 

Or  evening's  golden  shower  of  light 
5  For  every  fire  that  fronts  the  sun, 

And  every  spark  that  walks  alone, 
Around  the  utmost  verge  of  heaven, 

Were  kindled  at  thy  burning  throne. 

God  of  the  world !  the  hour  must  come, 
10  And  Nature's  self  to  dust  return; 

Her  crumbling  altars  must  decay  ; 

Her  incense  fires  shall  cease  to  burn ; 
But  still  her  grand  and  lovely  scenes 
Have  made  man's  warmest  praises  flow ; 
15  For  hearts  grow  holier  as  they  trace 

The  beauty  of  the  world  below. 


LESSON    XXVI. — UNIVERSAL    DECAY. — GREENWOOD. 
[Marked  for  Rhetorical  Pauses,  Empliasisj  and  Itifiectiofis.*] 

We  receive  such  repeated  intimations  of  decay  il  in 
the  world  through  which  we  are  passing ; — declbie  \  and 
change  I  and  loss^  follow  '  decline  \  and  change  \  and  loss 
11  in  sucli  rapid  succession,  that  we  can  almost  catch  the 
5  sound  of  universal  wasting,  and  hear  the  work  of  desold' 
tion  '  going  on  busily  '  around  us.  **  The  mountain  \  fall- 
ing II  cometh  to  nought,  and  the  rock  \  is  removed  out  of 
his  place.  The  laaters  \  ivear  the  stories,  the  things  which 
grow  out  of  the  diisl  of  the  earth  II  are  washed  awdy,  and 

10  the  hope  of  man  \  is  d-estroyed.^'  Coju^cious  '  of  our  own 
ijistability^  we  look  about  '  for  something  to  rht  on  ;  but 
we  look  •  in  vain.  The  heavens  '  and  the  earth  |  had  a 
beginning,  and  they  will  have  an  end.  The  face  of  the 
world  I  is  changiiig,  daily  and  hourly,     AH  •  animated 

15  things  II  grow  old  and  die.     The  rocks  \  crunibUy  the  trees 
I  fall,  the  leaves  \  fade,  and  the  grass  |  withers.     The 
clou/is  I  are  flying,  and  the  waters  \  are  flowing  away 
from  us. 

The  firmest  works  of  mh7i,  too,  are  gradtiaUy  giving 

20  why^  the  ivy  \  clings  to  the  moulderiyig  tower,  the  brier  | 

♦  The  learner  having  been  conducted  through  the  application  of 
the  rules  for  Pauses,  Emphasis,  and  In  (lections,  separately,  will 
now  be  prepared  to  stuily  and  apply  iheni  in  conjunction. 


113  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PABT   D. 

hangs  out  from  the  shattered  tcindojv,  and  the  wall-Jlmoer 
I  springs  from  the  disjointed  stones.  The  founders  \  of 
these  perishable  works  II  have  shared  the  suvie  fate  \  to?ig 
ago.  If  we  look  back  to  the  days  of  our  ancestors,  to  the 
6  mhi  I  as  well  as  the  dwilliiigs  \  of  former  times,  they  be« 
come  immediately  associated  in  our  imaginations,  and  only 
make  the  feeling  of  instability  stronger  and  deeper  than 
before.  In  the  spacious  domes,  wliich  once  held  our  /d- 
thers,   the  serpent   |  hisses,  and   the  zvild  bird  \  screams, 

10  The  hallsy  which  once  were  crowded  '  with  all  that  taste 

I  ^xxd  science  \  and  Za^or  |  co\x\di procure^ — which  resounded 

with  melody,  and  were  lighted  up  with  beauty,  are  buried 

'  by  their  oion  ruiyis,  mocked  \  by  their  own  desolation. 

The  voice  of  vierriment,  and  of  wailing,  the  steps  of  the 

15  busy  '  and  the  idle  II  have  chased  in  the  deserted  courts,  and 
the  weeds  \  choke  the  entrances,  and  the  Zow^^  ^rcw^  II  leaves 
upon  the  hearth-stone.  The  works  of  dr/,  the  forming 
hcLnd,.ihQ  tombs,  the  very  d^Ae^  they  contained,  are  aZZ 
gone, 

20  While  we  thus  walk  '  among  the  ruins  of  the  p&st,  a 
sad  feeling  of  inseciirity  \  comes  over  us ;  and  that  feel- 
ing '  is  by  no  means  diminished  llwhen  we  arrive  at  home. 
If  we  turn  to  our  friends,  we  can  hardly  speak  to  them  II 
before  they  bid  us  farewell.     We  see  them  for  a  few  mo- 

25  ments  '  and  in  a  few  moments  TTzorc,  their  coz^w/e?w72cc5  '  are 
changed,  and  they  are  sent  away.  It  matters  not  '  how  7iear 
•  and  dear  '  they  are.    The  ties  which  bind  us  together  II 
are  never  too  close  '  to  be  parted,  or  too  sir6?ig  '  to  be  bro- 
ken.     Tears  \  were  never  known  to  move  the  king  of 

30  terrors;  neither  is  it  enough  '  that  we  are  compelled  to 
surrender  one,  or  tioo,  or  many  of  those  we  love;  for 
though  the  price  is  so  great,  we  buy  no  favor  with  it,  and 
our  hold  '  on  those  who  remain  |  is  as  slight  as  kver. 
The  shadows  II  all  '  elude  our  grd^p,  and  follow  one  an- 

35  othgr  '  down  the  valley.  We  gain  no  co?7fidence,  then,  no 
fcelmg  of  security,  by  turning  to  our  co7itSmporaries  and 
kindred.  We  know  '  that  the  forms,  which  are  breathing 
arbund  us,  are  as  shortlived  'and  fleeting  '  as  those  were, 
which  have  been  dxist  I  for  centuries.     The  sensation  of 

40  vanity,  uncertainty,  ana  ruin,  is  eijually  strong,  whether 
we  muse  on  what  has  long  been  prostrate,  or  gaze  on 
what  is  falling  tiow,  or  will  fall  '  so  soon. 

If  every  thing  |  which  comes  under  ow  notice  H  ha« 


•ART   II.]  READER    AND   SFEAKER.  \\3 

endured  for  so  short  a  tiTnCy  and  '  in  so  short  a  tipe  |  will 
be  ?io  7?i6re,  we  cannot  say  |  that  we  receive  the  l^ast  as- 
surance II  by  thinking  on  ourselves.  When  a  few  more 
friends  |  have  lefty  a  feio  uiore  hopes  |  deceived^  and  a  feic 
6  more  changes  \  mocked  us,  "we  shall  be  brought  to  the 
gravCy  and  shall  remain  in  the  tojiih :  the  clods  of  the 
valley  \  shall  be  sicht  unto  us,  and  every  man  '  shall  fol- 
low  us,  as  there  are  innumerable  '  before  us."  All  poivei 
'  will  have  forsaken  the  strongest,  and  the  loftiest  '  will 

10  be  laid  loiv,  and  every  eye  '  will  be  closed,  and  every  voice  • 
hushed,  and  every  heart  '  will  have  ceased  its  beating.    And 
when  we  have  gone  '  ourselves,  even  our  memories  '  will 
not  stay  behrnd  us  long.  Kfeiv  of  the  near  and  dear  II  will 
bear  our  likeness  '  in  their  bosoms,  till  they  '  too  '  have  ar- 

15  rived  '  at  the  end  of  their  journey,  and  entered  the  dark 
dwelling  of  unconsciousness.  In  the  thoughts  of  others  II 
we  shall  live  '  only  till  the  last  sound  of  fhe  bell,  which 
informs  them  of  our  departure,  has  ceased  to  vibrate  in 
their  ears.     A  stone,  perhaps,  may  tell   some  wanderer 

20  where  we  lie,  when  we  came  here,  and  ivhln  we  we7it 
away  ;  but  '  even  that  \  will  soon  refuse  to  bear  us  rlc- 
ord :  '•''timers  effacing  finger s^^  \  will  be  busy  on  its  sur- 
face, and  I  at  length  '  will  wear  it  smooth  ;  and  then  |  the 
stone  itself  |  will  sink,  or  crumble,  and  the  wanderer  of 

25  another  age  |  will  pass,  without  a  si7igle  call  '  upon  his 
sympathy,  over  our  unheeded  graves. 


LESSON   XXVII. ETERNITY    OF    GOD.— GREENWOOD. 

[Marked  for  Rhetorical  Pauses,  Emphasis^  and  Inflections. '\ 

There  is  one  Being  II  to  whom  we  can  look  |  with  a 
perfect  conviction  '  of  finding  that  security,  which  •  wo- 
thing  about  us  '  can  give,  and  which  nothing  about  us  ' 
can  take  away.     To  this  Being  |  we  can  lift  up  our  s&ulss 

6  and  on  Hiin  '  we  may  rest  them,  exclaiming  |  in  the  Ian 
guage  '  of  the   monarch  of  Israel,   "Before   the  moun 
taitis  I  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  Thou  hadst  formed  th.^ 
earth  '  and  the  icorld,  even  from  everldsting  to  everlast- 
ing I!  Thou  art  G6d."    "  Of  old  II  hast  Thou  laid  the  foun- 

10  dations  of  the  iarth,  and  the  heavens  \  are  the  work  •  of 
Thy  hands.    Thty  \  shall  perish,  but  ThoJi  |  shalt  eyidure  • 
yea,  dll  of  them  |  shall  wax  old  '  like  a  ghrinent,  as  a 
vesture   '   shalt  Thou  change  them,  and  they   sKall  b 
10^ 


114  American  common-school  [part  i. 

chhnged;  but  Thou  \  art  tlie  sUniCy  and  Thy  years  |  shall 
have  no  hid.'  * 

Here  |  ilien  |  is  a  support^  which  will  niver  fd.il ;  here 
'  is  a  foiuidatioji  \  which  can  nlvcr  be  moved — the  ever' 
6  lasting  Creator  •  of  cou?itless  worlds^  "the  high  '  and 
lofiy  One  |  that  iiiJiabiteth  ethnity.''  What  a  subi/mb 
coNckpTioN  !  He  inhabits  ETkuNiTV,  occupies  this  iiicoii' 
ceivahle  dicrhtion,  pervades  |  and  fills  |  throughout  II 
THi:^  '  BOUNDLESS  DWELLING.     Ages  OH  ag€s  II  before  even 

10  the  dust  of  which  we  are  formed  II  was  created^  he  had 
existed  \  in  vifijiite  viajesty,  and  ages  on  ages  \  will  roll 
away  II  after  we  have  all  returned  to  the  dust  |  whence 
we  were  tdkeii^  and  '  still  |  he  will  exist  II  in  infinite  ma- 
jestyy  living  '  in  the  eternity  of  his  own  nature^  reigning 

15    '  in  the  plenitude  of  his  own  omnipotence^  for  ever  send- 
ing forth  the  word^  wliich  forvu^  supports^  and  governs  ' 
all  things,  commanding  new-created  light  II  to  shine  on 
new-created  ivorlds^  and  raising   up  new-created  gcivera- 
tio7is  I  to  inhabit  the  in. 

20       The  contemplation  '  of  this  glorious  attribute  of  God, 
is  fitted  to  excite  '  in  our  minds  '  the  most  animating  \ 
and  coiuoling  '   refihction^.     Standing,  as  we  are,  amid 
the  rtans  of  time^  and   the  ^creeks  of  viort&Hty^  where 
every  thing  about  us  |  is  created  '  and  dependent^  proceed- 

25  ing  from  nothings  and  hastening  to  destruction^  we  rejoice 

•  that  something  is  presented  to  our  view  |  which  has 

stood  from  everldsting,  and  will  remain  for  Iver,     When 

we  have  looked  on  the  pleasures  of  Zt/e,  and  they  have 

vanished  away ;  when  we  have  looked  on  the  toorks  of 

30  7idture,  and  perceived  that  they  were  chdnging ;  on  the 
monuments  of  arty  and  seen  that  they  would  not  stdnd ; 
on  our  friendsy  and  they  have  fled  '  while  we  were  g&z- 
ing ;  on  ourselves,  and  felt  that  wk,  were  as  fleeting  as 
they ;   when  we  have  looked  on  every  object  '  to  which 

35  we  could  turn  our  anxious  ^yes,  and  they  have  all  told  us 
that  they  could  give  us  no  hope,  nor  sitpport,  because  they 
were  so  feeble  themselves  ;  we  can  look  to  the  throne  of 
GOD :  change  •  and  decay  \  have  7iever  reached  thXt  ; 
the  revolutioji  of  ages  0  has  never  moved  it ;  the  waves  of 

40  an  eteriiity  \  nave  been  rushing  pdst   it,  but  it  has   ro- 

•  When  the  Hilhng:  inflection  recurs,  in  succession,  as  above,  il 
£ill8  lower  at  each  repetiiion. 


PART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  116 

mained  misluiken;  the  waves  of  anolK.r  eternity  |  are 
rushing  toward  it,  but  it  is  fixed,  and  can  ne^ver  be  dis- 
turbed.   

lesson  xxviii. two  centuries  from  the  landing  op 

THE    PILGRIMS. CRAFTS. 

pMarked  for  Ehetorical  Pauses,  Emphasis,  and  Inflections.] 

If,  on  this  d&y,  after  the  lapse  of  tivo  cknturies,  one  of 
the  fathers  of  New  England,  released  '  from  the  sleep  of 
death,  could  reappear  '  on  earth,  xchat  would  be  his  emo- 
tions '  o(joy  I  and  wonder !  In  lieu  of  a  wilderness,  here 
5  and  there  interspersed  '  with  solitary  cabins,  where  life  \ 
was  scarcely  worth  the  danger  of  preserving  it,  he  would 
behold  joyfnl  harvests,  a  popvlation  '  crowded  even  to  sa- 
tiety, I  villages,  towns,  cities,  states,  swar??ii7ig  with  indns- 
trions  inhahitants,  hills  \  graced  '  with  temples  of  deco- 

10  tion,  and  vdlleys  \  vocal  '  with  the  early  lessons  of  virtue. 
Casting  his  eye  on  the  ocean,  which  he  passed  in^^ar  and 
trimhling,  he  would  see  it  covered  with  e  '  hig  fleets 

II  returning  with  the  xohale  \  as  their  '  ^  ;  and  the 
ivealth  of  the  hidies  \  for  their  cargo.     He  would  behold 

15  the  little  colony  '  which  he  planted,  grown  into  gigantic 
stature,  and  forming  an  honorable  part  '  of  a  glorious 
confederacy,  the  pride  '  of  the  tarth,  and  the  f&corite  '  of 
hhaveii. 

He  would  witness,  with  exultation,  the  general  preva- 

20  lence  |  of  correct  principles  of  government  '  and  virtuous 
habits  of  action.  How  gladly  would  he  gaze  upon  the 
long  stream  of  light  and  renown  \  from  Harvard's  classic 
fomit,  and  the  kindred  springs  '  of  Yale,  of  Prdvideiice, 
of  Dartmouth,  and  of  Brimswick.     Would  you   fill   his 

25  bosom  with  honest  pride,  tell  him  of  FrXnklin,  who  made 
thu?ider  \  siceet  ?niisic,  and  the  light^xing  \  injioceyit  fire' 
works, — of  Adams,  the  venerable  sage  \  reserved  by  heaven, 
himself  \  a  blessing,  to  loitness  its  blessing  on  our  7idtio7i, 
— of  Ames,  whose  tongue  became,  and  has  become  |  an 

30  anger s, — of  Perry, 

"Blest  by  his  God  '  with  one  iUustrious  ddy, 
A  BLAZE  of  gl6ry,  crc  he  passed  away." 

And  tcU  him.  Pilgrim  of  Plymouth,  these  II  are  thy  de- 
scendants.     Show  him  the  stately  stritctures,  the  splendid^ 
35  benevolence,   he  masculine  intellect,  and  the  stoeet  hospitdl- 
ity  I  of  the  metropolis  of  New  England.     Show  him  thai 


116  AMERICAN    CI 'IMON-SCnOOL  [pART   H. 

iminSrtal  vhsel,*^  whose  7i^7ne  \  is  synonymous  with  tri* 
unipk,  and  each  of  her  mdsts  \  a  sceptre.  Show  him  the 
glorious  fruits  '  of  his  humble  hiterprise^  and  ask  him  if 
Mw,  All  this^  be  not  an  atoneinent  •  for  his  sxifferin^:^  a 
5  ricovipcnse  '  for  his  toils,  a  blessing  '  on  his  efforts,  ahd  a 
hear :'expa7idijig  iriumph  |  for  tlie  pilgri7n  adie7iturer. 

And  if  he  \  be  proud  '  of  his  Sffspriiig,  well  may  ^/i^y 
I  Z'oos^  of  i\ie\x  parentage. 


LESSON    XXIX. THE    UPRIGHT    LAWYER. S.  GREENLEAF. 

pMarked  for  Bhetorical  Pauses,  Emphasis,  and  Injkctions.} 

In  the  walks  of  private  life,  the  character  of  an  upright 
lawyer  II  shines  '  with  mild  \  but  ghiial  '  Itistre.  He  con- 
cerns himself  '  with  the  beginnings  of  controversies,  not  to 
i7ifldme  '  but  to  ezthiguish  thc7n.  He  is  not  content  '  with 
b  the  doubtful  morality  '  of  suffering  clients,  whose  passions 
are  roused,  to  rush  blindly  into  legal  conjiict.  His  con- 
science I  can  find  no  bahn  \  in  the  reflection,  that  he  has 
but  obeyed  the  orders  of  an  angry  vi&n.  He  feels  that  his 
first  duties  |  are  to  the  community  in  which  he  lives,  and 

10  whose  peace  \  he  is  hound  to  preserve. 

He  is  no  stranger  \  to  the  mischiefs,  which  follow  in 
the  train  of  litigation  ;  the  deadly  fhids  '  and  animosities 
I  descending  from  the  original  combatants  '  to  successive 
geTierdtions ;   the  perjuries  '  and  frauds  \  so  often  com- 

15  mitted  to  secure  success;  and  the  impoverishment  |  so 
commonly  resulting  |  even  to  the  winning  party  ;  ana  in 
view  of  these  c6nseque7ices,  he  advises  to  amicable  negotid- 
tion  and  adjtist7ne7it.  He  is  a  peaceuiaker, — a  composer 
of  dissensions, — a  blessing  to  his  neighborhood  ; — his  path 

20  I  is  luminous  II  as  the  path  of  the  just. 

I  look  '  with  pity  \  on  the  man,  who  regards  himself  '  a 
mere  7nachine  of  the  Idio  ; — whoseu  conceptions  of  moral 
and  social  duty  II  are  all  absorbed  in  the  sense  of  s7ipposcd 
obligation  to  his  client,  and  this  |  of  so  low  a  nature  II  as 

2b  to  render  him  a  very  tool  '  and  slXve,  to  serve  the  ivorst 
passioTu  of  men  ; — who'  yields  himself  '  a  passive  iyistru* 
me7it  '  oflfgal  hiflictiojis,  to  be  moved  at  the  pleasure  of 
every  hirer  ; — and  who  II  beholding  the  ruin  and  havoc  \ 
made  by  a  Idivsuit,  which  |  "/Tro  sc7'uples  of  honesty^*  \  in 

30  his  counsel  I  might  have  prerSnted,  can  cclm^'j  pocket  his 


•  The  Constitulioi|. 


4 


PART   II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER,  117 

fee  I  with  the  reflection,  that  he  has  done  his  duty  to  his 
client^  alike  regardless  of  ^uty  to  his  neighbor  '^and  his 
God, 
That  such  men  do  exist,  to  disgrace  our  profession,  is 
5  lamentahly  trite;  men, —  • 

"  that  can  speak 
To  evert/  cause,  and  things  mere  contraries^ 
Till  they  are  hoarse  again,  yet  all  \  be  law." — 

We  would  redeem  its  character  11  by  marking  a  highei 
10  standard  of  morals.  While  our  aid  should  never  be  with- 
held I  from  the  injured  '  or  the  accused,  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that  all  our  duties  '  are  not  concentrated  in  con- 
ducting an  appeal  to  the  law ; — ihat  we  are  not  only 
IdwyerSj  but  citizens  |  and  MEN ; — that  our  clients  |  are 
16  not  always  the  best  judges  of  their  own  interests : — and 
that  •  having  confided  these  interests  to  our  hands,  it  is  for 
us  to  advise  to  that  course,  which  will  best  conduce  to 
their  pcrma7ient  bhieft,  not  merely  '  as  solitary  individu- 
als,  but  as  men  II  connected  with  society  \  by  eiiduring  ties* 


LESSON   XXX.— CHARACTER    OF   THE    PRESENT   AGE. 

E.  EVERETT. 

[To  be  marked  by  the  reader,  for  Rhetorical  FauseSj  Emphasis,  and 
Injiections.] 

The  present  age  may  be  justly  described  as  the  Age  of 
Revolutions.  The  whole  civilized  world  is  agitated  with 
political  convulsions,  and  seems  to  be  panting  and  strug- 
gling in  agony  after  some  unattained, — perhaps  unattain- 

5  able  good.  From  the  commencement  of  our  revolution 
up  to  the  present  day,  we  have  witnessed  in  Europe  and 
America,  an  uninterrupted  series  of  important  changes. 
The  thrones  of  the  old  world  have  been  shaken  to  their 
foundations.     On  our  own  continent,  empires  that  bore 

10  the  name  of  colonies,  have  shaken  or  are  shaking  ofT  the 
shackles  of  dependence.  And  so  far  is  this,  the  age  of 
revolutions,  which  has  already  lasted  more  than  half  a 
century,  from  having  reached  its  termination,  that  the 
very  last  year  has  been  more  fruitful  in  the  most  tremen- 

15  dous  convulsions,  than  any  preceding  one  ;  and  the  present 
will  probably  be  still  more  agitated  than  the  last.  Every 
arrival  from  abroad  brings  us  intelligence  of  some  new 
e/ent  of  the  highest  moment:  some  people  rising  in  re- 
volt against  their  sovereign :  some  new  constitution  pro- 


lis  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   11. 

claimed  in  one  country:  some  reform,  equivalent  to  a  new 
conslUulion,  projected  in  aftother :  France,  in  the  midst  of 
a  dangerous  revolutionary  crisis:  Belgium,  Poland,  and 
Italy,  the  scenes  of  actual  hostilities  :  England,  on  the  eve 
6  of  commotion!  the  whole  European  commonwealth  ap- 
parently plunging  again  into  the  gulf  of  general  war. 

What  is  the  object  of  all  these  desperate  struggles  V — 
The  object  of  them  is  to  obtain  an  extension  of  individual 
liberty.     Established  institutions  have  lost  their  influence 

10  and  authority.  Men  have  become  weary  of  submitting  to 
names  and  forms  which  they  once  reverenced.  It  lias 
been  ascertained, — to  use  the  language  of  Napoleon,  tliat 
a  throne  is  only  four  boards  covered  with  velvet, — that  a 
written  constitution  is  but  a  sheet  of  parchment.     There 

15  is,  in  short,  an  effort  making  throughout  the  world  to  re- 
duce the  action  of  Government  within  the  narrowest 
possible  limits,  and  to  give  the  widest  possible  extent  to 
individual  liberty. 

Our  o^vn  country,  though  happily  exempt, — and  God 

20  grant  that  it  may  long  continue  so, — from  the  troubles  of 
Europe,  is  not  exempt  from  the  influence  of  the  causes 
that  produce  them.  We  too  are  inspired,  and  agitated, 
and  governed  by  the  all-pervading,  all-inspiring,  all-agi- 
tating, all-governing  spirit  of  the  age.     What  do  I  say  ? 

25  We  were  the  first  to  feel  and  act  upon  its  influence.  Our 
revolution  was  the  first  of  the  long  series  that  has  since 
shaken  every  corner  of  Europe  and  America.  Our  fa- 
thers led  the  van  in  the  long  array  of  heroes,  martyrs,  and 
confessors,  who  had  fought  and  fallen  under  the  banner  of 

30  liberty.  The  institutions  they  bequeathed  to  us,  and  un- 
der which  we  are  living  in  peace  and  happiness,  were 
founded  on  the  principles  which  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the 
present  agitation  in  Europe.  We  have  realized  what  our 
contemporaries  are  laboring  to  attain.     Our  tranquillity  is 

35  the  fruit  of  an  entire  acquiescence  in  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
We  have  reduced  the  action  of  Government  within  nar- 
rower limits,  and  given  a  wider  scope  to  individual  liberty, 
than  any  community  that  ever  flourished  before. 

We  live,  therefore,  in  an  age,  and  in  a  country,  where 

40  positive  laws  and  institutions  have  comparatively  but  little 
direct  force.  But  human  nature  remains  the  same.  The 
passions  are  as  wild,  as  ardent,  as  ungovernable,  in  a  re- 
public, as  in  a  despotism.  What  then  is  to  arrest  their 
vii.ience  ?     What  principle   is   to   take   the  place  of  the 


il 


PART    II.]  AEADER    AND    SPEAKER.  llO 

restraints  that  were  formerly  impo. 

toms, — venerable  names  and  forn.. ,  w...c 

establishments,  which  once  maintaii;  -f  so- 

ciety, but  which  are  fast  losing  their  jnllucncc  in  Lurope, 
6  and  which  have  long  since  lost  it  in  this  country  ?  I  an- 
swer, in  one  word.  Religion.  Where  the  direct  influence 
of  Power  is  hardly  felt,  the  indirect  influence  of  Religion 
must  be  proportionably  increased,  or  society  will  be  con- 
verted into  a  scene  of  wild  confusion.     The  citizen  who 

10  is  released  in  a  great  measure  from  the  control  of  positive 
authority,  must  possess  within  his  own  mind,  the  strong 
curb  of  an  enlightened  conscience,  a  well  grounded,  deep- 
ly felt,  rational,  and  practical  Piety;  or  else  he  will  be 
given  over.,  without   redemption,  to  the  sins  that   most 

15  easily  beset  him,  and,  by  indulging  in  them,  will  contribute 
so  far  as  he  has  it  in  his  power,  to  disturb  the  harmony  of 
the  whole  body  politic. 

LESSON  XXXI. THE    FOUNDERS   OF   BOSTON. JOSIAII  QUINCY. 

[To  be  marked  by  the  reader,  for  Rhetorical  Pauses^  EmphasiSj  and 
Inflections.^ 

On  this  occasion,"^  it  is  proper  to  speak  of  the  founders 
of  our  city,  and  of  their  glory.  Now  in  its  true  accepta- 
tion, the  term  glory  expresses  the  splendor  which  ema- 
nates from  virtue,  in  the  act  of  producing  general  and 
5  permanent  good.  Right  conceptions,  then,  of  the  glory  of 
our  ancestors,  are  alone  to  be  attained  by  analyzing  their 
virtues.  These  virtues,  indeed,  are  not  seen  charactered 
in  breathing  bronze,  or  in  living  marble.  Our  ancestors 
have  left  no  Corinthian  temples  on  our  hills,  no  Gothic 

10  cathedrals  on  our  plains,  no  proud  pyramid,  no  storied 
obelisk,  in  our  cities.  But  mind  is  there.  Sagacious 
enterprise  is  there.  An  active,  vigorous,  intelligent,  mor- 
al population  throng  our  cities,  and  predominate  in  our 
fields ;  men,  patient  of  labor,  submissive  to  law,  respectful 

15  to  authority,  regardful  of  right,  faithful  to  liberty.  These 
are  the  monuments  of  our  ancestors.  They  stand  immu- 
table and  immortal,  in  the  social,  moral,  and  intellectual 
condition  of  their  descendants.  They  exist  in  the  spirit 
which  their  precepts  instilled,  and  their  example  implanted. 

*  Address  at  the  dose  of  the  second  century  from  the  settlemen 
oi  Boston. 


120  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   a 

It  was  to  this  spot,  during  twelve  successive  years,  that 
the  great  body  of  those  first  settlers  emigrated.  In  this 
place,  they  either  fixed  permanently  their  abode,  or  took 
their  departure  from  it  for  the  coast,  or  the  interior. 
5  Whatever  honor  devolves  on  this  metropolis  from  the 
events  connected  with  its  first  settlement,  is  not  solitary 
or  exclusive  ;  it  is  shared  with  Massachusetts ;  with  New 
England ;  in  some  sense,  with  the  whole  United  Stales. 
For  what  part  of  this  wide  empire,  be  it  sea  or  shore,  lake 

10  or  river,  mountain  or  valley,  have  the  descendants  of  the 
first  settlers  of  New  England  not  traversed  ?  what  depth 
of  forest,  not  penetrated  ?  what  danger  of  nature  or  man, 
not  defied?  Where  is  the  cultivated  field,  in  redeeming 
which  from  the  wilderness,  their  vigor  has  not  been  dis- 

15  played  ?  Where,  amid  unsubdued  nature,  by  the  side  of 
the  first  log-hut  of  the  settler,  does  the  school-house  stand 
and  the  church-spire  risej^  unless  the  sons  of  New  Eng- 
land are  there  ?  Where  does  improvement  advance,  un- 
der the  active  energy  of  willing  hearts  and  ready  hands, 

20  prostrating  the  moss-covered  monarchs  of  the  wood,  and 
from  their  ashes,  amid  their  charred  roots,  bidding  the 
green  sward  and  the  waving  harvest  to  upspring,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  fathers  of  New  England  is  not  seen,  hover- 
ing, and  shedding  around  the  benign  'influences  of  sound, 

25  social,  moral,  and  religious  institutions,  stronger  and  more 
enduring  than  knotted  oak  or  tempered  steel?  The  swell- 
ing tide  of  their  descendants  has  spread  upon  our  coasts  ; 
ascended  our  rivers  ;  taken  possession  of  our  plains.  Al- 
ready it  encircles  our  lakes.     At  this  hour,  the  rushing 

30  noise  of  the  advancing  wave,  startles  the  wild  beast  in  his 
lair  among  the  prairies  of  the  West.  Soon  it  shall  be 
seen  climbing  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and,  as  it  dashes 
over  their  cliffs,  shall  be  hailed  by  the  dwellers  on  the 
Pacific,  as  the  harbinger  of  the  coming  blessings  of  safety, 

35  liberty,  and  truth. 


LESSON   XXXII. HUMAN    CULTURE. — S.  J.  MAY. 

[To  be  marked  by  the  reader,  *or  JRhetorical  PauseSj  Emphmis,  and 
Inflections.] 

When  we  see  a  flower, — its  calix  filled  with  petals  of 
exquisite  form,  of  the  most  delicate  texture,  and  diverse 
colors,  so  rich  and  nicely  blended  that  no  art  caiv  equal 


?ART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  121 

them,  and  withal  perpetually  difTusing  a  delicious  per- 
fume, we  cannot  readily  believe,  that  all  this  variety  of 
charms  was  evolved  from  a  little  seed,  not  bigger,  it  may 
be,  than  the  head  of  a  pin. 
5  When  we  behold  a  sturdy  oak,  that  has,  for  a  hundred 
years,  defied  the  blasts  of  winter,  has  stretched  wide 
around  its  sheltering  limbs,  and  has  seemed  to  grow  only 
more  hardy,  the  more  it  has  been  pelted  by  the  storms, — 
we  fmd  it  difficult  to  persuade  ourselves  that  the  essence, 

10  the  elements  of  all  this  body  and  strength,  were  once  en- 
closed in  an  acorn.  Yet  such  are  the  facts  of  the  vegeta- 
ble world.  Nor  are  they  half  so  curious  nor  wonderful, 
as  the  changes,  which  are  wrought  by  time  and  education, 
in  the  human  mind  and  heart. 

15  Here,  for  example,  is  a  man  now  master  of  twenty  lan- 
guages, who  can  converse  in  their  own  tongues  with  the 
people  of  as  many  different  nations,  whose  only  utterance 
thirty  years  ago  was  very  much  like,  and  not  any  more 
articulate  than,  the  bleating  of  a  lamb.     Or  it  may  be  that 

20  he,  who  could  then  send  forth  only  a  wailing  cry,  is  now 
overwhelming  the  crowded  forum,  or  swaying  the  Con- 
gress of  the  nation,  by  his  eloquence,  fraught  with  sur- 
passing wisdom. 

Here  is  another,  who  can  conceive  the  structure,  and 

25  direct  the  building  of  the  mighty  ship,  that  shall  bear  an 
embattled  host  around  the  world,  carrying  a  nation's  thun- 
der; or  the  man,  who  can  devise  the  plan  of  a  magnifi- 
cent temple,  and  guide  the  construction  of  it,  until  it  shall 
present  to  the  eye  of  the  beholder  a  perfect  whole,  glow- 

30  ing  with  the  unspeakable  beauty  of  symmetrical  form. 

And  here  is  a  third,  who  has  comprehended  the  struc- 
ture of  the  solar  system.  He  has  ascertained  the  relative 
sizes  of  the  planets,  and  learned  at  what  precise  moments 
they  shall  severally  complete  their  circuits.     He  has  even 

35  weighed  the  sun,  and  measured  the  distances  of  the  fixed 
stars ;  and  has  foretold  the  very  hour,  "  when  the  dread 
comet,"  after  an  absence  of  centuries,  "shall  to  the  fore- 
head of  our  evening  sky  return.'* 

These  men  are  the  same  beings,  who,  thirty  years  aga 

40  were  puling  infants,  scarcely  equal  in  their  intelligence  to 
kittens  of  a  week  old. 

There,  too,  is  a  man,  who  is  swaying  the  destiny  of 
nations.      His    empire    embraces    half  the   earth;    and, 
11 


122  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U. 

throughout  his  wide  domains,  his  will  is  law.  At  his 
command,  hundreds  of  thousands  rush  to  arms,  the  pliant 
subjects  of  his  insatiable  ambition,  ready  to  pour  out  their 
blood  like  water  in  his  cause.  He  arranges  them,  as  he 
6  pleases,  to  execute  his  plans.  He  directs  their  movements 
as  if  they  were  pawns  upon  a  chessboard.  He  plunges 
them  into  deadly  conflict,  and  wades  to  conquest  over 
their  dead  and  mangled  bodies.  That  man,  the  despotic 
power  of  whose  mind  now  overawes  the  world,  was  once 

10  a  feeble  babe,  who  had  neither  the  disposition,  nor  the 
strength,  to  harm  a  fly. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is^one,  who  now  evinces  un- 
conquerable energy,  and  the  spirit  of  willing  self-sacrifice 
in  works  of  benevolence.     No  toil  seems  to  overbear  his 

15  strength.  No  discouragement  impairs  his  resolution.  No 
dangers  disarm  his  fortitude.  He  will  penetrate  into  the 
most  loathsome  haunts  of  poverty  or  vice,  that  he  may  re- 
lieve the  wretched,  or  reclaim  the  abandoned.  He  will 
traverse  continents,  and  expose  himself  hourly  to  the  ca- 

20  pricious  cruelty  of  barbarous  men,  that  he  may  bear  to 
them  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation ;  or  he  will  calmly  face 
the  scorn  and  rage  of  the  civilized  world,  in  opposition  to 
the  wrong ;  or  march  firmly  to  the  stake,  in  maintenance 
of  the  true  and  the  right.     This  man,  a  few  years  ago, 

25  might  have  been  seen  crying  for  a  sugar-plum,  or  quarrel- 
ing with  his  little  sister  for  a  two-penny  toy. 

And  who  are  they,  that  are  infesting  society  with  their 
daring  crimes,  scattering  about  them  "  fire-brands,  arrows, 
and  death,"  boldly  setting  at  defiance  the  laws  of  man, 

30  and  of  God  ?  They  are  the  same  beings,  that  a  few  years 
ago,  were  innocent  little  children,  who,  could  they  have 
conceived  of  such  deeds  of  darkness,  as  they  now  perpe- 
trate without  compunction,  would  have  shrunk  from  them 
instinctively  with  horror. 

35  These,  surely,  are  prodigious  changes,  greater  far  than 
any  exhibited  in  the  vegetable  world.  And  are  they  not 
changes  of  infinitely  greater  moment?  The  growth  of  a 
mighty  tree,  from  a  small  seed,  may  be  matter  for  wonder, 
for  admiration  ;  but  ihe  development  of  a  being,  capable 

40  of  such  tremendous  agencies  for  good  or  for  evil,  should 
be  with  us  all  a  matter  of  the  deepest  concern.  Strango. 
passing  strange — that  it  is  not  so ! 


li 


FART   II.]  HEADER    AIND    SPEAKER.  123 

LESSON   XXXIII. — GRECIAN    AND   RO^LAN    ELOQUENCE. 

J.  Q.  ADAMS. 

[To  be  marketl  by  the  reader,  for  Bhetarical  Pauses^  Emphasis,  and 
Injiectivns.] 

In  the  flourishing  periods  of  Athens  and  Rome,  elo- 
quence was  power.  It  was  at  once  the  instrument  and 
the  spur  to  ambition.  The  talent  of  public  speaking  was 
the  key  to  the  highest  dignities ;  the  passport  to  the  su- 
5  preme  dominion  of  the  state.  The  rod  of  Hermes  was 
the  sceptre  of  empire  ;  the  voice  of  oratory  was  the  thun- 
der of  Jupiter. 

The  most  powerful  of  human  passions  was  enlisted  in 
the  cause  of  eloquence ;  and  eloquence  in  return  was  the 

10  most  effectual  auxiliary  to  the  passion.  In  proportion  to 
the  wonders  she  achieved,  was  the  eagerness  to  acquire 
the  faculties  of  this  mighty  magician. 

Oratory  was  taught,  as  the  occupation  of  a  life.     The 
course  of  instruction  commenced  with   the  infant  in  the 

15  cradle,  and  continued  to  the  meridian  of  manhood.  It 
was  made  the  fundamental  object  of  education,  and  every 
other  part  of  instruction  for  childhood,  and  of  discipline  for 
youth,  was  bent  to  its  accommodation. 

Arts,  science,  letters,  were  to  be  thoroughly  studied  and 

20  investigated,  upon  the  maxim,  that  an  orator  must  be  a 
man  of  universal  knowledge.  Moral  duties  were  incul- 
cated, because  none  but  a  good  man  could  be  an  orator. 
Wisdom,  learning,  virtue  herself,  were  estimated  by  their 
subserviency  to  the  purposes  of  eloquence ;  and  the  whole 

15  duty  of  man  consisted  in  making  himself  an  accomplished 
public  speaker. 

LESSON    XXXIV. TIIANATOPSIS.* W.  C.  BRYANT. 

plarked  for  the  application  of  Rhetorical  Pauses,  Emphasis,  and 
In/ection,  to  the  reading  of  Poetry.] 

To  him,  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language  ;  for  his  gdyer  hours  11 
She  has  a  voice  of  glMiiess,  and  a  smile  ' 
5     And  eloquence  o(  beauty,  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild  ' 
And  gentle  syinpathy,  that  steals  atoay 

♦  Contemplation  of  D«ath. 


124  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAET  O 

Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  awdre.     When  thoughts  • 
Of  the  iast  |  bitter  I  hour  II  come  like  a  blight  • 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images  ' 
Of  the  stcr?i  dgoiiy^  and  shroud,  and  jjdll, 
5     And  breatJdess  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house^ 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  hiart ; — 
Go  forth  '  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Ndtiire's  teachings,  while  from  all  arSuiid — 
Earth  and  her  wdters,  and  the  depths  of  dir, — 

10     Comes  a  still  voice — Yet  a  feiv  days,  and  thee  \ 
The  all'beholdiyig  sicn  II  shall  see  iw  more  \ 
In  all  his  course  ;  nor  yet  |  in  the  cold  ground^ 
Where  \\\y  pale  form  II  was  laid,  with  many  tiars^ 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean  II  shall  exist 

16     Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  cZdtnt; 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  agdin; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  siirrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go  II  ^^m    - 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements,  '^|^  ^ 

20     To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  stoain  II 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  trhads  upon.     The  oak  f 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould, 
Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting  place  II 

25     Shalt  thou  retire  alone, — nor  couldst  thou  wish  II 
Co2ich  I  7?wre  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down  \ 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  icbrld, — with  kings^ 
The  powerful  of  the  earth, — the  wise,  the  gbod^ 
¥Ti\x  forms,  and  hoary  sPxrs  \  of  ages  pdst, 

30     ^ZZ  I  in  one  '  fnighty  \  sepulchre. — The  hills  II 

Rock-ribb'd  \  and  ancient  '  as  the  5M71, — the  vdZef  II 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 
The  venerable  woods, — rivers  '  that  move 
In  mdjesty,  and  the  complahmig  brooks  II 

35     That  make  the  mcadoios  green ;  and,  poured  round  611^ 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  |  Xll  II 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun. 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 

40     Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  '  lapse  o(  ages.     All  that  triad 
The  globe  II  are  but  a  handful  II  to  the  tribes  ' 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom. — Take  the  wings 
Of  mdrning, — and  the  Barcan  disert  pierce, 


II 
I 


TART    U.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  125 

Or  lose  thyself  |  in  the  continuous  woods  II 
Where  rolh  the  ^Orego7i,  and  hears  no  so7i?idf 
Save  his  own  dashings, — yet — the  dead  II  are  th^rCt 
And  MILLIONS  in  those  solitudes^  since  first  ' 
6     The  jflight  oi  years  \  began,  have  laid  thern  down  ' 
In  their  last  sleeps — the  dead  |  reign  there  '  al6ne. — 
So  shalt  th6u  rest ; — and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall  | 
Unheeded  by  the  livings — and  no  friend  \ 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  tliat  brkathe  II 

'0     Will  share  thy  dtstiny.     The  gay  \  will  l&ugh  \ 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care  \ 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  pha7ito77i ;  yet  all  these  II  shall  leave  ' 
Their  7nirth  '  and  their  emjMy merits ,  and  shall  come, 

15     And  make  their  bed  '  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  I  glide  awdy,  the  sons  of  men, 
The  youth  |  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  streiigth  of  years,  m&tron,  and  maid, 
The  bowed  with  dge,  the  infant  II  in  the  smiles  • 

i  0     And  beauty  '  of  its  innocent  age  \  cut  off, — 
Shall,  07ie  by  07ie,  be  gathered  to  thy  side. 
By  those,  who  |  in  their  tiirn  II  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summoTis  '  comes  II  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 

^5     To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  '  shall  take 
His  chamber  '  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  '  at  night. 
Scourged  to  his  dungeo7i ;  but,  siistaiTied  \  and  soothed  I 
By  an  U7ifaltering  triist,  approach  thy  grave, 

30     Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch  ' 
Ab6ut  him,  and  lies  down  '  to  pleasant  drlams. 


LESSON  x?:xv. — TRUST  IN  GOD. —  Wordsioorth, 

jTo  be  marked  by  the  reader,  for  Rhetorical  Pauses,  Emphasts,  uid 
Infections.] 

How  beautiful  this  dome  of  sky  ! 


And  the  vast  hills,  in  fluctuation  fixed 

At  Thy  command,  how  awful !     Shall  the  soul, 

Human  and  rational,  report  of  Thee 

Even  less  than  these  ? — Be  mute  who  will,  who  can, 

Yet  I  will  praise  Thee  with  impassioned  voice : 

My  lips,  that  may  forget  Thee  in  the  crowd, 


126  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PABT  U 

Cannot  foriret  Thee  here ;  where  Thou  hast  built, 
For  Thy  own  glory,  in  the  wilderness. 

Me  didst  Thou  constitute  a  priest  of  thine, 

In  such  a  temple  as  we  now  behold 
5     Reared  for  Thy  presence ;  therefore  am  I  bound 

To  worship,  here, — and  everywhere, — as  one 

Not  doomed  to  ignorance,  though  forced  to  tread, 

From  childhood  up,  the  ways  of  poverty ; 

From  unreflecting  ignorance  preserved, 
10     And  from  debasement  rescued. — By  Thy  grace 

The  particle  divine  remained  unquenched  ; 

And,  'mid  the  wild  weeds  of  a  rugged  soil. 

Thy  bounty  caused  to  flourish  deathless  flowers 

From  Paradise  transplanted.     Wintry  age 
15     Impends  ;  the  frost  will  gather  round  my  heart ; 

And,  if  they  wither,  I  am  worse  than  dead. 

Come  labor,  when  the  worn-out  frame  requires 

Perpetual  sabbath  ;  come  disease  and  want, 

And  sad  exclusion  through  decay  of  sense  ; 
20     But  leave  me  unabated  trust  in  Thee  ; 

And  let  Thy  favor,  to  the  end  of  life, 

Inspire  me  with  ability  to  seek 

Repose  and  hope  among  eternal  things, — 

Father  of  heaven  and  earth !  and  I  am  rich, 
25     And  will  possess  my  portion  in  content. 

And  what  are  things  eternal  ? — Powers  depart. 

Possessions  vanish,  and  opinions  change, 

And  passions  hold  a  fluctuating  seat : 

But,  by  the  storms  of  circumstance  unshaken, 
30     And  subject  neither  to  eclipse  nor  wane. 

Duty  exists  ; — immutably  survive. 

For  our  support,  the  measures  and  the  forms. 

Which  an  abstract  Intelligence  supplies ; 

Whose  kingdom  is  where  time  and  space  are  not : 
35     Of  other  converse,  which  mind,  soul,  and  heart. 

Do,  with  united  urgency,  require. 

What  more,  that  may  not  perish  ?  Thou,  dread  Source, 

Prime,  self-existing  Cause  and  End  of  all. 

That,  in  the  scale  of  being,  fill  their  place,  ^^ 

40     Above  our  human  region,  or  below,  '^^M  m 

Set  and  sustained; — Thou, — who  didst  wrap  the  cloS!^ 

Of  infancy  around  us,  that  Thyself, 

Therein,  with  our  simplicity  awhile 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  125 

Migl:  t'st  hold,  on  earth,  communion  undisturbed, — 
Who  from  the  anarchy  of  dreaming  sleep. 
Or  from  its  death-like  void,  with  punctual  care, 
And  touch  as  gentle  as  the  morning  light, 
5     Restor'st  us,  daily,  to  the  powers  of  sense, 

And  reason's  steadfast  rule, — Thou,  Thou  alone 
Art  everlasting. 

This  universe  shall  pass  away, — a  frame 
Glorious  !  because  the  shadow  of  Thy  might, — 

10     A  step,  or  link,  for  intercourse  with  Thee. 

Ah !  if  the  time  must  come,  in  which  my  feet 
No  more  shall  stray  where  meditation  leads. 
By  flowing  stream,  through  wood,  or  craggy  wild, 
Loved  haunts  like  these,  the  unimprisoned  mind 

15     May  yet  have  scope  to  range  among  her  own, 
Her  thoughts,  her  images,  her  high  desires. 

If  the  dear  faculty  of  sight  should  fail. 
Still  it  may  be  allowed  me  to  remember 
What  visionary  powers  of  eye  and  soul, 

20     In  youth,  were  mine  ;  when,  stationed  on  the  top 
Of  some  huge  hill,  expectant,  I  beheld 
The  sun  rise  up,  from  distant  climes  returned, 
Darkness  to  chase,  and  sleep,  and  bring  the  day, 
His  bounteous  gift !  or  saw  him,  towards  the  deep 

25     Sink,  with  a  retinue  of  flaming  clouds 

Attended  !     Then  my  spirit  was  entranced 
With  joy  exalted  to  beatitude  ; 
The  measure  of  my  soul  was  filled  with  bliss, 
And  holiest  love  ;  as  earth,  sea,  air,  with  light, 

30     With  pomp,  with  glory,  with  magnificence  ! 


LESSON    XXXVI. — MEMORY. W.  G.  CLARK. 

JThis  piece  is  designed  as  an  exercise  in  'smooth'  and  '  pure  quality 
or  voice.     The  suavity  of  tone,  which  belongs  to  genth  and  tender 
emotion^  should  prevail  in  the  reading  of  this  beautiful  composition. 
A  full,  clear,  but  softened  note,  should  be  heard,  throughout.] 

[pM.^]  'T  is  sweet,  to  remember  !     I  would  not  forego 

The  charm  which  the  Past  o'er  the  Present  can  throw 
For  all  the  gay  visions  that  Fancy  may  weave 
In  her  web  of  illusion,  that  shines  to  deceive. 
5         We  Know  not  the  future, — the  past  we  have  felt;—^ 
Its  cherished  enjoyments  the  bosom  can  melt;* 


/28  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  fPART   Vk 

Its  raptures  anew  o'er  our  pulses  may  roll, 

When  thoughts  of  the  morrow  fall  cold  on  the  soul. 

'T  is  s<veet,  to  remember  !     When  storms  are  abroad, 
We  see  in  the  rainbow,  the  promise  of  God  : 
5         The  day  may  be  darkened, — but  far  in  the  West, 
In  vermilion  and  gold,  sinks  the  sun  to  his  rest ; 
With  smiles  like  the  morning  he  passeth  away: 
Thus  the  beams  of  delight  on  the  spirit  can  play, 
When  in  calm  reminiscence  we  gather  the  flowers, 
10         Which  Love  scattered  round  us  in  happier  hours. 

'T  is  sweet,  to  remember  !     When  friends  arc  unkind 
When  their  coldness  and  carelessness  shadow  the  mind 
Th€7iy  to  draw  back  the  veil  which  envelopes  a  land, 
Where  delectable  prospects  in  beauty  expand  ; 
5         To  smell  the  green  fields,  the  fresh  waters  to  hear, 
Whose  once  fairy  music  enchanted  the  ear ; 
To  drink  in  the  smiles  that  delighted  us  then, — 
To  list  the  fond  voices  of  childhood  again, 
Oh !  this  the  sad  heart,  like  a  reed  that  is  bruised, 
20         Binds  up,  when  the  banquet  of  hope  is  refused. 

'T  is  sweet,  to  remember  !     And  naught  can  destroy 
The  balm-breathing  comfort,  the  glory,  the  joy, 
Which  spring  from  that  fountain,  to  gladden  our  way, 
When  the  changeful  and  faithless  desert  or  betray. 
25         I  would  not  forget  !-^though  my  thoughts  should  be 
dark  ; 
O'er  the  ocean  of  life,  I  look  back  from  my  bark. 
And  see  the  fair  Eden,  where  once  I  was  blest, 
A  type  and  a  promise  of  heavenly  rest. 


LESSON    XXXVII. — OLD   IRONSIDES. 0.  W.  HOLMES. 

(This  piece  is  desired  as  an  exercise  for  cultivating  the  *oro 
lund  quality ',  or  full,  round,  and  forcible  voice,  which  belongs  to 
energetic  and  declamatory  expression.  A  loud,  clear,  ringing  tone, 
should  prevail,  thruui^'hout  the  reading  or  recitation  of  such 
pieces] 

[oro,  q.]     Ay,  tear  her  tatter'd  ensign  down  ! 
[I]  Long  has  it  waved  on  high ; 

And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 
That  banner  in  the  sky ; 
6  Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ; — 


PART    n.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  129 

The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more ! 

Her  deck, — once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 
Where  knelt  the  vanquish'd  foe, 
5  When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below,— 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquer'd  knee ; 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 
10  The  eagle  of  the  sea ! 

Oh !  better  that  her  shatter'd  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave : 
16  Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail ; 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms. 

The  lightning  and  the  gale  ! 


LESSON   XXXVIII. TILVT   SILENT   MOON. — G.  W.  DOANK, 

[The  piece  which  follows,  is  intended  for  practice  in  *  soft '  and 
subdued  'force'.  The  voice,  in  this  form  of  utterance,  is  meant 
to  be  reduced  below  its  average  energy,  not  by  mere  slackness,  or 
absence  of  force,  but  by  an  intentional  reduction  of  vdume,  so  a/ 
lo  touch  the  ear  delicately,  yet  vividly,  vls  is  naturally  done  in  lh> 
expression  of  an  afl'ecting  bentiment.] 

[x]         That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon, 

Careering  now  through  cloudless  sky, 
Oh !  who  shall  tell  what  varied  scenes 
Have  pass'd  beneath  her  placid  eye, 
6  Since  first,  to  light  this  wayward  earth, 

She  walk'd  in  tranquil  beauty  forth  ? 

How  oft  has  guilt's  unhallow'd  hand. 

And  superstition's  senseless  rite. 
And  loud,  licentious  revelry, . 
10  Profaned  her  pure  and  holy  light ! 

Small  sympathy  is  hers,  I  ween, 
With  sights  like  these,  that  virgin  queen. 

But  dear  to  her,  in  summer  eve. 
By  rippling  wave,  or  tufted  grove, 


130  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   11 

When  liand  in  hand  is  purely  clasp*d, 
And  heart  meets  heart  in  holy  love, 
To  smile,  in  quiet  loneliness, 
And  hear  each  whisper'd  vow,  and  bless. 

6  Dispersed  along  the  world's  wide  way, 

\Vhen  friends  are  far,  and  fond  ones  rov* 
How  powerful  she  to  wake  the  thought. 

And  start  the  tear  for  those  we  love. 
Who  watch,  with  us  at  night's  pale  noon, 
lO  And  gaze  upon  that  silent  moon  ! 

How  powerful,  too,  to  hearts  that  mourn. 
The  magic  of  that  moonlight  sky. 

To  bring  again  the  vanished  scenes, 
The  happy  eves  of  days  gone  by ; 
15  Again  to  bring,  'mid  bursting  tears, 

The  loved,  the  lost,  of  other  years  ! 

And  oft  she  looks,  that  silent  moon, 

On  lonely  eyes,  that  wake  to  weep, 
In  dungeon  dark,  or  sacred  cell, 
20  Or  couch,  whence  pain  has  banish'd  sleet 

Oh  !  softly  beams  that  gentle  eye, 
On  those  who  mourn,  and  those  who  die. 

But  beam  on  whomsoe'er  she  wull. 
And  fall  where'er  her  splendor  may, 
25  There's  pureness  in  her  chasten'd  light. 

There's  comfort  in  her  tranquil  ray : 
What  power  is  hers  to  soothe  the  heart,- 
What  power  the  trembling  tear  to  start! 

The  dewv  morn  let  others  love, 
30  Or  basic  them  in  the  noontide  ray ; 

There's  not  an  hour  but  has  its  charm. 
From  dawning  light  to  dying  day  :— 
But  oh !  be  mine  a  fairer  boon, — 
That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon! 


PART  n.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER,      OXj^t  13i 

LESSON    XXXIX. — EVENING   ON    THE    ST.    LAT^RENCF. — 
SILLIMAN. 

[This  piece  is  designed  for  practice  in  'moderate  force*.  The 
least  excess  of  quantity,  or  volume  of  voice,  in  the  reading  of  such 
pieces,  disturbs  the  repose,  aud  is  at  variance  with  the  gcritleness,  of 
the  scene.  4\.t  the  same  time,  care  should  be  taken,  that  the  tone 
do  not  become  lifeless,  from  want  of  animation.  A  quiet  but 
distinct  utterance,  should  be  maintained,  throughout  all  such 
passages.] 

[  ]  From  the  moment  the  sun  is  down,  every  thing  becomes 
silent  on  the  shore,  which  our  windows  overlook ;  and  the 
murmurs  of  the  broad  St.  Lawrence,  more  than  two  miles 
wide,  immediately  before  us,  and,  a  little  way  to  the  right, 
5  spreading  to  five  or  six  miles  in  breadth,  are  sometimes, 
for  an  hour,  the  only  sounds  that  arrest  our  attention. 
Every  evening  since  we  have  been  here,  black  clouds  and 
splendid  moonlight  have  hung  over,  and  embellished  this 
tranquil  scene ;  and,  on  two  of  these  evenings,  we  havt; 

10  been  attracted  to  the  window,  by  the  plaintive  Canadian 
boat-song.  In  one  instance,  it  arose  from  a  solitary  voya- 
ger, floating  in  his  light  canoe,  which  occasionally  appeared 
and  disappeared  on  the  sparkling  river,  and  in  its  distant 
course  seemed  no  larger  than  some  sportive  insect.     In 

15  another  instance,  a  larger  boat,  with  more  numerous  and 
less  melodious  voices,  not,  indeed,  in  perfect  harmony, 
passed  nearer  to  the  shore,  and  gave  additional  life  to  the 
scene.  A  few  moments  after,  the  moon  broke  out  from  a 
throne  of  dark  clouds,  and  seemed  to  convert  the  whole 

20  expanse  of  water  into  one  vast  sheet  of  glittering  silver ; 
and,  in  the  very  brightest  spot,  at  the  distance  of  more 
than  a  mile,  again  appeared  a  solitary  boat,  but  too  distant 
to  admit  of  our  hearing  the  song,  \vith  which  the  boatman 
was  probably  solacing  his  lonely  course. 


LESSON    XL. AMERICA    TO    ENGLAND. W.  ALLSTON. 

[This  piece  furnishes  an  example  of  the  energetic  style,  which,  in 
elocution,  is  termed  'declamatory  force*.     The  properties  of  % 
in  the  reading  and  recitation  of  such  passages,  may  all  be  d 
nated  under  the  head  of  ^ orotund^  utterance, — a  deep,  full,  and  »«o- 
naiit  tone,  pervading  the  whole  j   and  every  note  combining  the 
d€pth  of  the  *  pectoral^  with  the  smoothness  of  the  *a'<U  quali(f\] 

[I]  All  hail !  thou  noble  land, 

Our  fathers'  native  soil ! 
Oh !  stretch  thy  mighty  hand, 
Gigantic  g^o^vn  by  toil. 


132  AMERICAN    C031M0N-SCH00L  [PART   XL 

0*er  the  vast  Atlantic  wave  to  our  shore : 
For  thou,  with  magic  might, 
Canst  reach  to  where  the  light 
Of  Phoebus  travels  bright 

The  world  o'er! 


I 


The  Genius  of  our  clime, 
From  pine-embattled  steep, 
Shall  hail  the  great  sublime ; 
While  the  Tritons  of  the  deep 
With  their  conchs  the  kindred  league  shall  proclaim, 
10  Then  let  the  world  combine, — 

O'er  the  main  our  naval  line. 
Like  the  milky-way,  shall  shine 
Bright  in  fame ! 

Though  ages  long  have  passed 
15  Since  our  fathers  left  their  home, 

Their  pilot  in  the  blast, 
O'er  untravelled  seas  to  roam, — 
Yet  lives  the  blood  of  England  in  our  veins! 
And  shall  we  not  proclaim 
20  That  blood  of  honest  fame. 

Which  no  tyranny  can  tame 

By  its  chains  ? 

While  the  language,  free  and  bold, 
Which  the  bard  of  Avon  sung, 
25  In  which  our  Milton  told 

How  the  vault  of  heaven  rung. 
When  Satan,  blasted,  fell  with  all  his  host ; 
While  this,  with  reverence  meet. 
Ten  thousand  echoes  greet, 
30  From  rock  to  rock  repeat 

Round  our  coast ; 

While  the  manners,  while  the  arts, 

That  mould  a  nation's  soul. 

Still  cling  around  our  hearts, 
35  Between  let  ocean  roll, 

Our  joint  communion  breaking  w^ith  the  sun* 

Yet,  still,  from  either  beach. 

The  voice  of  blood  shall  reach, 

More  audible  than  speech, 
40  "We  are  One!" 


READER   AND   8FEAKER.  133 

LESSON    XLI. THE    AMERICAN    EAGLE. —  C.  W.  THOMSON. 

[The  following  piece  affords  scope  for  a  degree  of '  force '  beyond 
that  which  was  exemplified  in  the  preceding  lesson.  In  the  second, 
third,  and  fourth  stanzas,  it  rises  to  what  is  distinguished,  in  elocu- 
tion, by  the  designation  of  'empassioned  force', — the  fullest  veht' 
mence  of  voice,  l>ordering  on  the  shout,  and,  sometimes,  passing  into 
it.  This  style  is  found  chielly  in  lyric  poetry  ;  but  it  is  sometimes 
exemplified  in  the  vehement  energy  of  prose,  on  exciting  occasions  ) 

[II]  Bird  of  the  heavens  !  whose  matchless  eye 

Alone  can  front  the  blaze  of  day, 
And,  wandering  through  the  radiant  sky, 
Ne'er  from  the  sunlight  turns  away ; 
6  Whose  ample  wing  was  made  to  rise 
Majestic  o'er  the  loftiest  peak. 
On  whose  chill  tops  the  winter  skies, 

Around  thy  nest,  in  tempests,  speak, — 
What  ranger  of  the  winds  can  dare, 
10  Proud  mountain  king !  with  thee  compare ; 
Or  lift  his  gaudier  plumes  on  high 
Before  thy  native  majesty. 
When  thou  hast  ta'en  thy  seat  alone, 
Upon  thy  cloud-encircled  throne  ? 

f  I  ]      15  Bird  of  the  cliffs  !  thy  noble  form 

Might  well  be  thought  almost  divine ; 
Born  for  the  thunder  and  the  storm, 

The  mountain  and  the  rock  are  thine ; 
And  there,  where  never  foot  has  been, 
20       Thy  eyrie  is  sublimely  hung, 
(         Where  low'ring  skies  their  ^VTath  begin, 
<  <  And  loudest  lullabies  are  sung 

(         By  the  fierce  spirit  of  the  blast. 

When,  his  snow  mantle  o'er  him  cast, 
2f5  He  sweeps  across  the  mountain  top. 
With  a  dark  fury  naught  can  stop, 
And  wings  his  wild  unearthly  way 
Far  through  the  clouded  realms  of  day. 

Bird  of  the  sun  !  to  thee, — to  thee 
30       The  earliest  tints  of  dawn  are  known, 
And  't  is  thy  proud  delight  to  see 

The  monarch  mount  his  gorgeous  throne 
Throwing  the  crimson  drapery  by. 
That  half  impedes  his  glorious  way; 
35  And  mounting  up  the  radiant  sky, 

E'en  what  he  is, — the  king  of  day  ! 
12 


[13 


« 


134  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHO  )L  [PART   0 

[  1 1  Before  the  regent  of  the  skies 

Men  shrink,  and  veil  their  dazzled  eyes ; 
But  thou,  in  regnl  majesty, 
Hast  kingly  rank  as  well  as  he ; 
5  And  with  a  steady,  dauntless  gaze 
Thou  meet*st  the  splendor  of  his  blaze. 

Bird  of  Columbia !  well  art  thou 

An  emblem  of  our  native  land  ; 
With  unblenched  front  and  noble  brow, 
10       Among  the  nations  doomed  to  stand ; 
Proud,  like  her  mighty  mountain  woods; 
Like  her  own  rivers,  wandering  free ; 
p..-|  J         And  sending  forth  from  hills  and  floods, 
*■•-'(  The  joyous  shout  of  liberty  ! 

[I]      15  Like  thee,  majestic  bird!  like  thee, 
She  stands  in  unbought  majesty. 
With  spreading  wing,  untired  and  strong, 
That  dares  a  soaring  far  and  long, 
That  mount?  aloft,  nor  looks  below, 
[  II  ]    20  And  will  not  quail  though  tempests  blow. 

[  I  ]  The  admiration  of  the  earth. 

In  grand  simplicity  she  stands ; 
Like  thee,  the  storms  beheld  her  birth, 
And  she  was  nursed  by  rugged  hands ; 
[  ]      25  But,  past  the  fierce  and  furious  war, 
Her  rising  fame  new  glory  brings, 
For  kings  and  nobles  come  from  far 
To  seek  the  shelter  of  her  wings. 
I]  And  like  thee,  rider  of  the  cloud, 

30  She  mounts  the  heavens,  serene  and  proud, 
Great  in  a  pure  and  noble  fame. 
Great  in  her  spotless  champion's  name, 
And  destined  in  her  day  to  be 
Mighty  as  Rome, — more  nobly  free. 

I       35  My  native  land!  my  native  land! 

To  her  my  thoughts  will  fondly  turn ; 
For  her  the  warmest  hopes  expand, 

For  her  the  heart  with  fears  will  yearn. 
Oh !  may  she  keep  her  eye,  like  thee, 
40       Proud  eagle  of  the  rocky  wild, 
Fix*d  on  the  sun  of  liberty. 

By  rank,  by  faction  unbeguiled  ; 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  135 

Remembering-  still  the  rugged  road 
Our  venerable  fathers  trod, 
When  they  through  toil  and  danger  pressed, 
To  gain  their  glorious  bequest, 
5  And  from  each  lip  the  caution  fell 

To  those  who  follow'd,  "  Guard  it  well.*' 


LESSON   XLII. — THE    LAST   EVENING   BEFORE    ETERNITY. — 
J.  A.  HILLHOUSE. 

[The  followini^  extract  is  intended  as  an  exercise  in  Mow'  pitch 
of  utterance.  A  deep^  and  comparatively  hohaw  tone,  pervades  the 
reading  of  this  piece,  as  it  is  characterized  by  the  deepest  solemniii/. 
As  an  exercise  in  elocution,  it  is  designed  to  cultivate  the  power  of 
full  and  clear  utterance,  on  alow  key, — an  attainment  more  difticult 
than  most  otK  .rs,  but  of  the  greatest  service  to  appropriate  expres- 
sion, in  all  solemn  passages,  whether  in  sacred  or  secular  composi- 
tions.] 

lo]"^        Sy  ^^^^s»  ^^^  sun  his  westering  car  drove  low; 
Round  his  broad  wheels  full  many  a  lucid  cloud 
Floated,  like  happy  isles  in  seas  of  gold : 
Along  the  horizon  castled  shapes  were  piled, 
5         Turrets  and  towers,  whose  fronts  embattled  gleaemd 
With  yellow  light :  smit  by  the  slanting  ray, 
A  ruddy  beam  the  canopy  reflected ; 
With  deeper  light  the  ruby  blushed ;  and  thick 
Upon  the  seraphs'  wings  the  glowing  spots 

10         Seemed  drops  of  fire.     Uncoiling  from  its  staff, 
With  fainter  wave,  the  gorgeous  ensign  hung, 
Or,  swelling  with  the  swelling  breeze,  by  fits 
Cast  off,  upon  the  dewy  air,  huge  flakes 
Of  golden  lustre.     Over  all  the  hill, 

15         The  heavenly  legions,  the  assembled  world, 
Evening  her  crimson  tint  for  ever  drew. 

Round  I  gazed 
Where  in  the  purple  west,  no  more  to  dawn, 
Faded  the  glories  of  the  dying  day. 

20         Mild-twinkling  through  a  crimson-skirted  cloud. 
The  solitary  star  of  evening  shone. 
While  gazing  wistful  on  that  peerless  light. 
Thereafter  to  be  seen  no  more,  (as  oft 
In  dreams  strange  images  will  mix,)  sad  thoughts 

♦  For  an  example  of '  very  low '  utterance,  see  lkssou  xlvi 


136  AMERICAN    C0MMnN-5;riTO0L  [PART   II. 

Pa5;sed  o'er  my  soul.     Sorrowinf,^  I  cried,  "Farewell, 
Pale,  beauteous  planet,  that  display'st  so  soft, 
Amid  yon  glowing  streak,  thy  transient  beam, 
A  long,  a  last  farewell  !     Seasons  have  changed, 
6         Ages  and  empires  rolled,  like  smoke,  away, 
But  thou,  unaltered,  beam'st  as  silver  fair 
As  on  thy  birthnight !     Bright  and  watchful  eyw/ 
From  palaces  and  bowers,  have  hailed  thy  gem 
»  With  secret  transport !     Natal  star  of  love, 

10         And  souls  that  love  the  shadowy  hour  of  fancy, 
How  much  I  owe  the;p,  how  I  bless  thy  ray ! 
How  oft  thy  rising  o*er  the  hamlet  green, 
Signal  of  rest,  and  social  converse  sweet, 
Beneath  some  patriarchal  tree,  has  cheered 
15         The  peasant's  heart,  and  drawn  his  benison ' 
Pride  of  the  West!  beneath  thy  placid  light 
The  tender  tale  shall  never  more  be  told, — 
Man's  soul  shall  never  Avake  to  joy  again  : 
Thou  set'st  for  ever, — lovely  orb,  farewell ! " 


LESSON  XLIIl. THE    CHARACTER    OF    JESTJS. S.  C.  THaCHER. 

[This  extract  is  intended  for  practice  on  the  *  middle',  or  average 
pitch  of  the  voice,  which  belongs  to  serious  communication  in  public 
reading  or  speaking,  when  not  descending  to  the  key  of  sohnmity^ 
nor  rising  to  that  Qf  mere  conversation.  A  moderately  grave  strain 
pervades  the  utterance,  in  such  cases,  and  serves,  if  not  overdone,  to 
give  earnestness  and  dignity  to  expression.] 

[]  We  find,  in  the  life  of  Jesus,  a  union  of  qualities, 
which  had  never  before  met  in  any  being  on  this 
earth.  We  find  imbodied  in  his  example  the  highest 
virtues  both  of  active  and  of  contemplative  life.  We 
6  see  united  in  him  a  devotion  to  God  the  most  intense, 
abstracted,  unearthly,  with  a  benevolence  to  man  the  most 
active,  afTectionate,  and  universal.  We  see  qualities  meet 
and  harmonize  in  his  character,  which  are  usually  thought 
the   most   uncongenial.      We   see  a  force  of  character, 

10  which  difficulties  cannot  conquer,  an  energy  which  calam- 
ity cannot  relax,  a  fortitude  and  constancy  which  sufler- 
ings  can  neither  subdue  nor  bend  from  their  purpose ; 
connected  with  the  most  melting  tenderness  and  sensibility 
of  spirit,  the  mo.^t  exquisite  susceptibility  to  every  soft  and 

15  gentle  impression.     We  see  in  him  the  rare  union  of  zeal 


J 


?AET   n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  137 

and  moderation,  of  courage  and  prudence,  of  compassion 
and  finuness ;  we  see  superiority  to  the  world  without 
gloom  or  severity,  or  indifference  or  distaste  to  its  pursuits 
and  enjoyments. 
6  In  short,  there  is  something  in  the  whole  conception 
and  tenor  of  our  Saviour's  character  so  entirely  peculiar, 
something  which  so  roAli^^es  the  ideal  model  of  the  most 
consummate  moral  beauty  ;  something  so  lovely,  so  gra- 
cious,  so    venerable   and   commanding,   that   the  boldest 

10  infidels  have  shrunk  from  it  overawed,  and,  though  their 
cause  is  otherwise  desperate,  have  yet  feared  to  profane 
its  perfect  purity.  One  of  the  most  eloquent  tributes  to 
its  sublimity,  that  was  ever  uttered,  was  extorted  from  the 
lips  of  an  infidel.     "Is  there  anything  in  it,"  he  exclaims, 

15  "of  the  tone  of  an  enthusiast,  or  of  an  ambitious  sectary? 
What  sweetness,  what  purity  in  his  manners  ;  what  touch- 
ing grace  in  his  instructions ;  what  elevation  in  his  max- 
ims ;  what  profound  wisdom  in  his  discourses ;  what 
presence   of  mind,  what  skill  and  propriety  in  his  an- 

20  swers  ;  what  empire  over  his  passions !  Where  is  the 
man,  where  is  the  sage,  who  knows  how  to  act,  to  suffer 
and  to  die,  without  weakness  and  without  ostentation  ? 

"  When  Plato  paints  his  imaginary  just  man  covered 
with  all  the  ignominy  of  crime,  and  yet  worthy  of  all  the 

25  honors  of  virtue,  he  paints  in  every  feature  the  character 
of  Christ.  What  prejudice,  what  blindness  must  possess 
us,  to  compare  the  son  of  Sophroniscus  to  the  son  of  Mary ! 
How  vast  the  distance  between  them !  Socrates,  dying 
without  pain  and  without  ignominy,  easily  sustains  his 

30  character  to  the  last;  and  if  this  gentle  death  had  not 
honored  his  life,  we  might  have  doubted  whether  Soc- 
rates, with  all  his  genius,  was  any  thing  more  than  a 
sophist.  The  death  of  Socrates,  philosophizing  tranquilly 
with  his  friends,  is  the  most  easy  that  one  could  desire  ; 

^5  that  of  Jesus,  expiring  in  torture,  insulted,  mocked,  exe- 
crated by  a  whole  people,  is  the  most  horrible  that  one 
can  fear.  Socrates,  when  he  takes  the  poisoned  cup, 
blesses  him  who  weeps  as  he  presents  it ;  Jesus,  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  dreadful  tortures,  prays  for  his  infuriated 

40  executioners. — Yes  !  if  the  life  and  death  of  Socrates  are 
those  of  a  sage,  the  life  and  death  of  Jesus  are  wholly 
divine."  

12* 


138  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAKT  IL 

LESSON   XLIV. WOMAN. — MISS  C.  E.  BEECHER. 

FThe  following  piece  exemplifies  the  medium,  or  average  tone  »f 
oraifuiry,  earnest  conversation,  in  private  company,  ami  has  its  pitch 
higher  on  the  scale,  .than  the  preceding  lesson.  The  animation  of 
the  style,  however,  should  fiot  he  permitted  to  carry  the  note  up  to 
the  key  of  nure  vivacity  and  exhilaration.  The  prevailing  note,  in  the 
reading  of  this  extract,  is,  properly,  that  of  lively  but  respectful  com- 
munication.] 

[  ]  It  is  to  motliers  and  to  teachers,  that  the  world  is 
to  look  for  the  character,  which  is  to  be  enstamped  on 
each  succeeding  generation ;  for  it  is  to  them  that  the 
great  business  of  education  is  almost  exclusively  com- 
5  mitted.  And  will  it  not  appear  by  examination,  that 
neither  mothers  nor  teachers  have  ever  been  properly  edu- 
cated for  their  profession  ?  What  is  the  profession  of  a 
woman  ?  Is  it  not  to  form  immortal  minds,  and  to  watch, 
to  nurse,  and  to  rear  the  bodily  system,  so  fearfully  and 

10  wonderfully  made,  and  upon  the  order  and  regulation  of 
which,  the  health  and  well-being  of  the  mind  so  greatly 
depend  ?  • 

But  let  most  of  our  sex,  upon  whom  these  arduous  du- 
ties  devolve,   be   asked, — "  Have   you  ever   devoted   any 

15  time  and  study,  in  the  course  of  your  education,  to  a  pre- 
paration for  these  duties  ?  Have  you  been  taught  any 
thing  of  the  structure,  the  nature,  and  the  laws,  of  the 
body  which  you  inhabit  ?  Were  you  ever  taught  to  un- 
derstand the  operation  of  diet,  air,  exercise,  and  modes  of 

20  dress,  upon  the  human  frame  ?  Have  the  causes  which 
are  continually  operating  to  prevent  good  health,  and  the 
modes  by  which  it  might  be  perfected  and  preserved,  ever 
been  made  the  subject  of  any  instruction  ?" 

Perhaps  almost  every  voice  would  re.spond, — "  No  ;  we 

25  h&^e  attended  to  almost  every  thing  more  than  to  this  : 
we  have  been  taught  more  concerning  the  structure  of  the 
earth,  the  laws  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  the  habits  and  for- 
mation of  plants,  the  philosophy  of  language,  than  con- 
cerning the  structure  of  the  human  frame,  and  the  laws 

30  of  health  and  reason."  But  is  it  not  the  business,  the 
profession  of  a  woman,  to  guard  the  health,  and  form  the 
physical  habits  of  the  young  ?  And  are  not  the  cradle  of 
infancy,  and  the  chamber  of  sickness,  sacred  to  woman 
alone  ?     And  ought  she  not  to  know,  at  least,  some  of  the 

35  general  principles  of  that  perfect  and  wonderful  piece  of 
mechanism  committed  to  her  preservation  and  caro  ? 


PART    11.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  hI^ 

The  restoration  of  health  is  the  physician's  profession, 
but  the  prcservatioji  of  it  falls  to  other  hands ;  and  it  is 
believed  that  the  time  will  come,  when  woman  will  be 
taught  to  understand  something  respecting  the  construc- 
5  tion  of  the  human  frame  ;  the  philosophical  results  which 
will  naturally  follow  from  restricted  exercise,  unhealthy 
modes  of  dress,  improper  diet,  and  many  other  causes, 
which  are  continually  operating  to  destroy  the  health  and 
life  of  the  young. 

10  Again,  let  our  sex  be  asked  respecting  the  instruction 
they  have  received,  in  the  course  of  their  education,  on 
that  still  more  arduous  and  difficult  department  of  their 
profession,  which  relates  to  the  intellect  and  the  moral 
susceptibilities, — "  Have  you  been  taught  the  powers  and 

15  faculties  of  the  human  mind,  and  the  laws  by  which  it  is 
regulated?  Have  you  studied  how  to  direct  its  several 
faculties  ;  how  to  restore  those  that  are  overgrown,  and 
strengthen  and  mature  those  that  are  deficient  ?  Have 
you  been  taught  the  best  modes  of  communicating  knowl- 

20  edge,  as  well  as  of  acquiring  it  ?  Have  you  learned  the 
best  mode  of  correcting  bad  moral  habits,  and  forming 
good  ones?  Have  you  made  it  an  object,  to  find  how  a 
selfish  disposition  may  be  made  generous  ;  how  a  reserved 
temper  may  be  made   open   and   frank ;  how  pettishness 

25  and  ill-humor  may  be  changed  to  cheerfulness  and  kind- 
ness ?  Has  any  woman  studied  her  profession  in  this 
respect  ? 

It  is  feared,  the  same  answer  must  be  returned,  if  not 
from  all,  at  least  from  most  of  our  sex  : — "  No  ;  we  have 

30  acquired  wisdom  from  the  observation  and  experience  of 
others,  on  almost  all  other  subjects ;  but  the  philosophy 
of  the  direction  and  control  of  the  human  mind,  has  not 
been  an  object  of  thought  or  study.'*  And  thus  it  appears, 
that,  though  it  is  woman's  express  business   to  rear  the 

35  body,  and  form  the  mind,  there  is  scarcely  any  thing  to 
which  her  attention  has  been  less  directed. 


'fiO  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

LESSON   XLV. THE    TREADMILL    SONG. 0.  W.  HOLMES. 

fl^his  humorous  lyric  is  introduced  to  exeinplity  the  *  high  '  pilch 
wliich  belunsfs  to  gaiety  and  merriment.  The  note  of  the  voice  is,  in 
the  reading  of  such  compositions  as  this,  quite  above  that  of  dignified 
conversation.  It  is,  proj">erly,  that  of  the  talking  tone,  excited  to  the 
mood  of  jnirth,  which  is  always  comparatively  high-pitched.  It  hap- 
pens, also,  to  exemplify  *  loud '  and  <  lively '  utterance.  The  practice 
of  passages  of  this  description,  imparts  spirit  and  pliancy  to  the 
voice,  and  prevents  habits  of  dull  and  monotonous  reading.  A  higk^ 
ringing  lone,  such  as  we  hear  in  the  play-ground,  should  pervade 
the  utterance,  in  the  reading  of  this  and  similar  compositions.] 

[•  %  I]     The  stars  are  rolling  in  the  sky, 
The  earth  rolls  on  below, 
And  we  can  feel  the  rattling  wheel 
Revolving  as  we  go. 
5  Then  tread  away,  my  gallant  boys, 

And  make  the  axle  fly ! 
Why  should  not  wheels  go  round  about, 
Like  planets  in  the  sky  ? 

Wake  up,  wake  up,  my  duck-legg'd  man, 
10  And  stir  your  solid  pegs  ; 

Arouse,  arouse,  my  gawky  friend. 
And  shake  your  spider-legs  : 
What  though  you  're  awkward  at  the  trade  ? 
There  's  time  enough  to  learn ; 
15  So  lean  upon  the  rail,  my  lad. 

And  take  another  turn. 

They  Ve  built  us  up  a  noble  wall 

To  keep  the  vulgar  out ; 
We  've  nothing  in  the  world  to  do 
20  But  just  to  walk  about : 

So  faster,  now,  you  middle  men. 

And  try  to  beat  the  ends ; 
It 's  pleasant  work  to  ramble  round 

Among  one's  honest  friends. 

25  Here  tread  upon  the  long  man's  toes ; 

He  sha'n't  be  lazy  here  : 
And  punch  the  little  fellow's  ribs, 

And  tweak  that  lubber's  ear : — 
He  *s  lost  them  both  : — don't  pull  his  hair, 
30  Because  he  wears  a  scratch, 

But  poke  him  in  the  farther  eye, 
That  is  n't  in  the  patch. 

Hark  !  fellows,  there  's  the  supper- bell, 
(in4  8Q  our  work  is  done  : 


i 


PART   II.]  READER    AND-  SPEAKER.  141 

It  *s  pretty  sport, — suppose  we  take 

A  round  or  two  for  fun  ! 
If  ever  they  should  turn  me  out 

When  I  have  better  grown, 
6  Now  hang  me,  but  I  mean  to  have 

A  treadmill  of  my  own  ! 


LESSON   XLVI. DARKNESS. ByrOU, 

[The  following  piece  is  designed  for  practice  in  'very  slow  *  utter- 
ance. The  tone  of  horror,  which  pervades  the  whole  description, 
besides  being  very  low  in  pitch,  i*?  always  sloiv,  to  extreme.  The 
chief  object  in  view,  in  such  exercises,  is  to  obtain  a  perfect  com- 
mand of  the  '  rate '  of  utterance  ;  so  as  to  give,  when  necessary,  all 
the  effect  of  whvinity,  awe,  and  even  horror,  which  characterize  the 
reading  of  such  passages  as  abound  in  the  'Paradise  Lost,'  and  in 
the  '  Night  Thoughts.'  The  least  acceleration  of  voice,  in  such  cases, 
destroys  the  effect  of  the  reading,  and  impairs  the  power  of  the  po- 
etry, on  the  ear  and  the  heart.] 

[o"^]     I  had  a  dream,  which  was  not  all  a  dream. — 
The  bright  sun  was  extinguished,  and  the  stars 
Did  wander  darkling  in  the  eternal  space, 
Rayless,  and  pathless,  and  the  icy  earth 
5     Swung  blind  and  blackening  in  the  moonless  air ; 

Morn  came,  and  went, — and  came,  and  brought  no  day: 

And  men  forgot  their  passions,  in  the  dread 

Of  this  their  desolation  ;  and  all  hearts 

Were  chilled  into  a  selfish  prayer  for  light : 

And  they  did  live  by  watch-fires ;  and  the  thrones, 

The  palaces  of  crowned  kings,  the  huts, 

The  habitations  of  all  things  which  dwell, — 

Were  burnt  for  beacons  ;  cities  were  consumed  : 

And  men  were  gathered  round  their  blading  hom*»s, 

15     To  look  once  more  into  each  other's  face  : 
Happy  were  those  who  dwelt  within  the  eye 
Of  the  volcanoes  and  their  mountain  torch. 

A  fearful  hope  was  all  the  world  contained  : 
Forests  were  set  on  fire  ;  but,  hour  by  hour, 
They  fell  and  faded ;  and  the  crackling  trunks 
Extinguished  with  a  crash, — and  all  was  black, 
The  brows  of  men,  by  the  despairing  light, 
Wore  an  unearthly  aspect,  as  by  fits 
The  flashes  fell  upon  them.     Some  lay  down, 
25     And  hid  their  eyes,  and  wept ;   and  some  did  rest 
Their  chins  upon  their  clenched  hands,  and  smiled  ; 
And  others  hurried  to  and  fro,  and  fed 


Itt  AMERICAN    GOMMON-SCIIOOL  [PART   n. 

Their  funeral  piles  with  fuel,  and  looked  up 
Wiih  n»ad  disquietude  on  the  dull  sky, 
The  p»ill  of  a  past  world  ;  and  then  again, 
With  curses,  cast  them  down  upon  the  dust, 
6     And  gnashed  their  teeth  and  howled.     The  wild  birdi 
shrieked, 
And,  terrified,  did  flutter  on  the  ground. 
And  flap  their  useless  wings  :  the  wildest  birds 
Came  tame  and  tremulous  ;  and  vipers  crawled 
10     And  twined  themselves  among  the  multitude. 
Hissing,  but  stingless, — they  were  slain  for  food. 

And  War,  which  for  a  mon^ent  was  no  more, 
Did  glut  himself  again  : — a  meal  was  bought 
With  blood,  and  each  sat  sullenly  apart, 

15     Gorging  himself  in  gloom  ;  no  love  was  left : 

All  earth' was  but  one  thought, — and  that  was  death 
Immediate  and  inglorious  ;  and  men 
Died,  and  their  bones  were  tombless  as  their  flesh ; 
The  meagre  by  the  meagre  were  devoured ; 

20     Even  dogs  assailed  their  masters, — all,  save  one, 
And  he  was  faithful  to  a  corse,  and  kept 
The  birds,  and  beasts,  and  famished  men,  at  bay, 
Till  hunger  clung  them,  or  the  dropping  dead 
Lured  their  lank  jaws  ;  himself  sought  out  no  food, 

25     But,  with  a  piteous  and  perpetual  moan. 
And  a  quick,  desolate  cry,  licking  the  hand 
Which  answered  not  with  a  caress, — he  died. 

The  crowd  was  famished  by  degrees ;  but  two 
Of  an  enormous  city  did  survive, 

30     And  they  were  enemies  ;  they  met  beside  mM 

The  dying  embers  of  an  altar-place,  ^B 

Where  had  been  heaped  a  mass  of  holy  things 
For  an  unholy  usage  ;  they  raked  up. 
And,  shivering,  scraped,  with  their  cold,  skeleton  hands, 

35     The  feeble  ashes ;  and  their  feeble  breath 
Blew  for  a  little  life,  and  made  a  flame. 
Which  was  a  mockery  ;  then  they  lifted  up 
Their  eyes  as  it  grew  lighter,  and  beheld 
Each  otlier's  aspects, — saw,  and  shrieked,  and  died,— 

4C     Even  of  their  mutual  hideousness  they  died, 
Unknowing  who  he  was  upon  whose  brow 
Famine  had  writlcii  fund.     Th(!  world  was  void  ; 


FART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  143 

The  populous  and  the  powerful  was  a  lump, — 
Seasonless,  herbless,  treeless,  manless,  liieless,— 
A  lump  of  death, — a  chaos  of  hard  clay. 
The  rivers,  lakes,  and  ocean,  all  stood  still ; 
5     And  nothing  stirred  within  their  silent  depths  : 
Ships,  sailorless,  lay  rotting  on  the  sea. 
And  their  masts  fell  down  piecemeal ;  as  they  dropped, 
They  slept  on  the  abyss  without  a  surge : 
The  waves  were  dead ;  the  tides  were  in  their  grave ; 
10     The  moon,  their  mistress,  had  expired  before ; 
The  winds  were  withered  in  tne  stagnant  air ; 
And  the  clouds  perished :  Darkness  had  no  need 
Of  aid  from  them  ;  she  was  the  universo. 


LESSON  XLVii. — GOD. — Derzhavhi,  traJislated  hy 
Bowring, 

[The  piece  which  follows,  is  designed  for  practice  in  tho  '  very 
slow '  rale  which  characterizes  deej)  awe.  Reverence^  solemnity,  and 
awe, — but  especially  the  last, — incline  to  extreme  sIowmss,  g^real 
prolongation  of  single  sounds,  and  remarkably  long  pauses.  The  tone 
of  these  emotions  is  deep,  although  not  so  peculiarly  low,  as  that 
which  was  exemplified  in  the  preceding  lesson.  Length  of  vowel 
sounds,  and  length  of  pauses,  are  the  main  objects  of  practice,  m 
such  exercises.] 

[^]       O  Thou  eternal  One  !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motion  guide : 
Unchanged  through  time's  all-devastating  flight; 
Thou  only  God !     There  is  no  God  beside  ! 

5         Being  above  all  beings  !  Mighty  One  ! 

Whom  none  can  comprehend,  and  none  explore ; 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone  : 
Embracing  all, — supporting, — ruling  o'er, — 
Being  whom  we  call  God, — and  know  no  more ! 

10         In  its  sublime  research,  philosophy 

May  measure  out  the  ocean-deep, — may  count 
The  sands  or  the  sun's  rays ; — but,  God  !  for  Thee 
There  is  nonweight  nor  measure : — none  can  mount 
Up  to  Thy  mysteries.     Reason's  brightest  spark, 

15         Though  kindled  by  Thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 
To  trace  Thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark; 
And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high. 
Even  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 


144  ANUUCAM   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 
First  chaos,  then  existence  : — Lord !  on  Thee 
Eternity  had  its  foundation  ; — all 
Sprung  forth  from  Thee  : — of  light,  joy,  harmony, 
5         Sole  origin  : — all  life,  all  beauty  Thine. 
Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create ; 
Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 
Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be  !  Glorious !  Great ! 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate ! 

10         Thv  chains  the  unmeasured  universe  surround, 
Upheld  by  Thee,  by  Thee  inspired  with  breath ! 
Thou  the  beginning  with  the  end  hast  bound, 
And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  death ! 
As  sparks  mount  upwards  from  the  fiery  blaze, 

15         So  suns  are  born,  so  worlds  sprung  forth  from  Thee 
And  as  the  spangles  in  the  sunny  rays 
Shine  round  the  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 
Of  heaven's  bright  army  glitters  in  Thy  praise. 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  Thy  hand, 
20         Wander,  unwearied,  through  the  blue  abyss : 

They  own  Thy  power,  accomplish  Thy  command. 

All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 

What  shall  we  call  them  ?    Piles  of  crystal  light, — 

A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams, — 
25         Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright, — 

Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams  ? 

But  Thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes !  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea. 

All  this  magnificence  in  Thee  is  lost : — 
30         What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  Thee  ? 

And  what  am  /then?     Heaven's  unnumbered  host, 

Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 

Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance,  weighed 
35         Against  Thy  greatness,  is  a  cipher  brought  i 

Against  infinity  !     Oh  !  what  am  I  then  ?     Nought ! 

Nought !  yet  the  effluence  of  Thy  light  divine. 
Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom  too; 
Yes !  in  my  spirit  doth  Thy  spirit  shine, 
40         As  shines  the  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 


AET    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  145 

Nought !  yet  I  live,  and  on  hope's  pinions  fly 
Eager  towards  Thy  presence ;  for  in  Thee 
I  live,  and  breathe,  and  dwell ;  aspiring  high, 
Even  to  the  throne  of  Thy  divinity. 
5         I  am,  O  God !  and  surely  Thoic  must  be ! 

Thou  art!  directing,  guiding  all.  Thou  art ! 
Direct  my  understanding,  then,  to  Thee ; 
Control  my  spirit,  guide  my  wandering  heart: 
Though  but  an  atom  'midst  immensity, 
10         Still  I  am  something,  fashioned  by  Thy  hand ! 
I  hold  a  middle  rank  'twixl  heaven  and  earth, 
On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand. 
Close  to  the  realms  where  angels  have  their  birth, 
Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit-land  ! 

15         The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me  : 

In  me  is  matter's  last  gradation  lost ; 

And  the  next  step  is  spirit, — Deity ! 

I  can  command  the  lightning,  and  am  dust ! 

A  monarch,  and  a  slave ;  a  worm,  a  god ! 
20         Whence  came  I  here  ?  and  how  so  marvellously 

Constructed  and  conceived  ?     Unknown  ! — This  clod 

Lives  surely  through  some  higher  energy ; 

For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be  ! 

Creator,  yes !  Thy  wisdom  and  Thy  word 
25         Created  me  !  Thou  source  of  life  and  good  ! 
Thou  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and  my  Lord ! 
Thy  light.  Thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 
30         The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 

Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere, 

Even  to  its  source, — to  Thee, — its  Author  there 

• 

Oh  !  thoughts  ineffable  !  Oh  !  visions  blest ! 

Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  Thee, 
35         Yet  shall  Thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 

And  waft  its  homage  to  Thy  Deity. 

God  !  thus  alone  my  lonely  thoughts  can  soar ; 

Thus  seek  Thy  presence,  iBeing  wise  and  good ! 

*Midst  Thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore ; 
40         And  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more. 

The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude. 


146  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

LESSON   XLVIII. NIAGARA. MRS.  SIGOURNEY. 

[The  following  piece  is  designed  for  practice  in  the  <slow'  utter- 
ance which  characterizes  the  tones  of  sublimity  and  awe.  The  '  rale  * 
of  voice  is  not  altogether  so  slow  as  in  the  preceding  lesson  ;  yet  it 
retains  much  of  that  elTcct  which  cannot  be  given  without  slowness 
of  movement  and  full  pauses.  The  note,  in  the  style  of  this  lesson, 
continues  loiv,  although  not  so  remarkably  deej)  as  in  the  preceding. 
The  principal  object  of  practice,  in  this  instance,  is  to  secure  tliat 
degree  of  <  slowness '  which  marks  the  tones  of  wvnder  and  aiton 
ishment.] 

[  T  ]     Flow  on  forever,  in  thy  glorious  robe 

Of  terror  and  of  beauty  !     Yea,  flow  on 
Unfathomed  and  resistless  !     God  hath  set 
His  rainbow  on  thy  forehead :  and  the  cloud 
6  Mantled  around  thy  feet.     And  he  doth  give 

Thy  voice  of  thunder,  power  to  speak  of  Him 
Eternally, — bidding  the  lip  of  man 
Keep  silence,  and  upon  thy' rocky  altar  pour 
Incense  of  awe-struck  praise. 

10  Ah !  who  can  dare 

To  lift  the  insect-trump  of  earthly  hope, 
Or  love,  or  sorrow,  'mid  the  peal  sublime 
Of  thy  tremendous  hymn?     Even  Ocean  shrinks 
Back  from  thy  brotherhood ;  and  all  his  waves 

15  Retire  abashed.     For  he  doth  sometimes  seem 

To  sleep  like  a  spent  laborer,  and  recall 
His  wearied  billows  from  their  vexing  play, 
And  lull  them  to  a  cradle  calm ;  but  thou 
With  everlasting,  undecaying  tide, 

20  Dost  rest  not,  night  or  day.     The  morning  stars, 

When  first  they  sang  o'er  young  creation's  birth, 
Heard  thy  deep  anthem ;  and  those  wrecking  fires 
That  wait  the  archangel's  signal  to  dissolve 
This  solid  earth,  shall  find  Jehovah's  name 

25  Graven,  as  wjfh  a  thousand  diamond  spears, 

On  thine  unending  volume. 

Every  leaf, 
That  lifts  itself  within  thy  wide  domain, 
Doth  g-.ither  greenness  from  thy  living  spray, 

30  Yet  tremble  at  the  baptism.     Lo  ! — yon  birds 

Do  boldly  venture  near,  and  bathe  their  wing 
Amid  thy  mint  and  (oam.     'T  is  meet  for  them. 
To  touch  thy  garment's  hem,  and  lightly  stir 
The  snowy  leaflets  of  thy  vapor  wreath, 

15  For  they  may  sport  unharmed  amid  the  cloud, 


PART    Tl.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  14T 

Or  listen  at  the  echoing  gate  of  heaven, 
Without  reproof.     But  as  for  us,  it  seems 
Scarce  lawful,  with  our  broken  tones,  to  speak 
Familiarly  of  thee.     Methinks  to  tint 
5         Thy  glorious  features  with  our  pencil's  point, 
Or  woo  thee  to  the  tablet  of  a  song. 
Were  profanation. 

Thou  dost  make  the  soul 
A  wondering  witness  of  thy  majesty  ; 

)Q         Bul  as  it  presses  with  delirious  joy 

To  pierce  thy  vestibule,  dost  chain  its  step. 
And  tame  its  rapture  with  the  humbling  view 
Of  its  own  nothingness  ;  bidding  it  stand 
In  the  dread  presence  of  the  Invisible, 

1^         As  if  to  answer  to  its  God  through  thee. 


LESSON    XLIX. — THE    UNITED    STATES. BANCROFT. 

[The  extract  which  follows,  exemplifies  the  deliberate,  or  ^mode- 
rately slow'  utterance,  which  belongs  to  the  style  of  serious  reading 
or  speaking,  with  reference  to  the  purposes  of  public  or  general 
comijiunication.  Such  passages  exemplify,  also,  the  'moderate' 
force,  and  the  'middle'  pitch.  To  avoid  hurry,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  drawling,  on  the  other,  is  the  object  in  view,  in  the  practice  of 
such  exercises.  A  grave  and  digjiifitd  style  forbids  any  approach  to 
haste ;  but  it  does  iiot  imply  a  lagging  sloivness.] 

[  I  The  United  States  of  America  constitute  an  essential 
portion  of  the  great  political  system,  embracing  all  the 
civilized  nations  of  the  earth.  At  a  period  when  the  force 
of  moral  opinion  is  rapidly  increasing,  they  have  the  prece- 

5  dence,  in  the  practice  and  the  defence  of  the  equal  rights 
of  man. 

The  sovereignty  of  the  people,  is  here  a  conceded  axiom  ; 
and  the  laws,  established  upon  that  basis,  are  cherished 
with   faithful  patriotism.     While   the  nations  of  Europe 

0  aspire  after  change,  our  constitiltion  engages  the  fond 
admiration  of  the  people,  by  whom  it  has  been  established. 
Prosperity  follows  the  execution  of  even  justice  ;  invention 
is  quickened  by  the  freedom  of  competition;  and  labor 
rewarded  with  sure  and  unexampled  returns. 

15  Domestic  peace  is  maintained  without  the  aid  of  a  mili- 
tary establishment;  public  sentiment  permits  the  existence 
of  but  few  standing  troops,  and  those  only  along  the  sea- 
board and  on  the  frontiers.  A  gallant  navy  protects  o\ir 
commerce,  which  spreads  its  banners  on  every  sea,  and 


♦48  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  H 

extends  its  enterprise  to  every  clime.  Our  diplomatic  rela- 
tions connect  us,  on  terms  of  equality  and  honest  friend- 
ship, with  the  chief  powers  of  the  world;  while  we  avoid 
entangling  participation  in  their  intrigues,  their  passions, 
6  and  their  wars. 

Our  national  resources  are  developed  by  an  earnest  cul- 
ture of  the  arts  of  peace.  Every  man  may  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  his  industry;  every  mind  is  free  to  publish  its  convic- 
tions.   Our  government,  by  its  organization,  is  necessarily 

10  identified  with  the  interests  of  the  people,  and  relies  exclu- 
sively on  their  attachment,  for  its  durability  and  support. 
Even  the  enemies  of  the  state,  if  there  be  any  among  us, 
have  liberty  to  express  their  opinions  undisturbed  ;  and  are 
safely  tolerated,  where  reason  is  left  free  to  combat  their 

15  errors.     Nor  is  the  constitution  a  dead  letter,  unalterably 

fixed ;    it  has   the  capacity    for   improvement ;    adopting 

\vhatever  changes  time  and  the  public  will  may  require, 

and  safe  from  decay,  so  long  as  that  will  retains  its  energy. 

New  states  are  forming  in  the  wilderness ;  canals,  inter- 

20  secting  our  plains  and  crossing  our  highlands,  open  numer- 
ous channels  to  internal  commerce ;  manufactures  prosper 
along  our  water-courses ;  the  use  of  steam  on  our  rivers 
and  rail-roads,  annihilates  distance  by  the  acceleration  of 
speed.     Our  wealth  and  population,  already  giving  us  a 

25  place  in  the  first  rank  of  nations,  are  so  rapidly  cumula- 
tive, that  the  former  is  increased  fourfold ;  and  the  latter  is 
doubled,  in  every  period  of  twenty-two  or  twenty-three 
years.  There  is  no  national  debt;  the  community  is  opu- 
lent; the  government  economical;  and  the  public  treasury 

30  full.  Religion,  neither  persecuted  nor  paid  by  the  state, 
is  sustained  by  the  regard  for  public  morals,  and  the  con- 
victions of  an  enlightened  faith. 

Intelligence  is  diffused  with  unparalleled  universality ; 
a  free  press  teems  with  the  choicest  productions  of  all  na- 

35  tions  and  ages.  There  are  more  daily  journals  in  the 
United  States,  than  in  the  world  beside.  A  public  docu- 
ment of  general  interest  is,  within  a  month,  reproduced  in 
at  least  a  million  of  copies,  and  is  brought  within  the  reach 
of  every  freeman  in  the  country. 

40  An  immense  concourse  of  emigrants,  of  the  most  various 
lineage,  is  perpetually  crowding  to  our  shores ;  and  the 
principles  of  liberty,  uniting  all  interests  by  the  operation 
of  equal  laws,  blend  the  discordant  elements  into  harmoni- 
ous union.      Other   governments  are  convulsed  by  the 


P4RT   II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  149 

innovations  and  reforms  of  neighboring  states ;  our  conijii- 
tution,  fixed  in  the  aflections  of  the  people,  from  whose 
choice  it  has  sprung,  neutralizes  the  influence  of  foreign 
principles,  and  fearlessly  opens  an  asylum  to  the  virtuous. 
5  the  unfortunate,  and  the  oppressed  of  every  nation. 


LESSON    L. ^WOUTER    VAN    TWILLER. WASHINGTON    IRVING. 

[The  following  specimen  of  descriptive  humor,  requires  the  'lively 
movement ',  in  its  rate  of  utterance.  The  voice  is,  in  this  instance, 
accelerated  beyond  the  rate  of  serious  coimmmication,  in  any  form  : 
although  it  does  uot  possess  the  rapidittj  which  belongs  to  the  excited 
style  of  lyric  or  dramatic  poetry,  m  the  most  vivid  style  of  humor- 
ous expression.  This  lesson  combines,  also,  an  exemplification  of 
< moderate'  force,  and  'middle'  pilch.  The  object  in  view  in  the 
practice  of  such  exercises  as  this,  is  to  gain  animation  and  briskness, 
in  utterance.  A  laggmg  or  drawling  tone  is  utterly  incompatible 
with  humorous  delineation.  Mere  rapidittj,  however,  will  not  suc- 
ceed in  imparting  liveliness  to  style  ;  the  utterance  must  be  slow 
enough  to  be  distinct  and  spirited.] 

[u]  The  renowned  Wouter,  (or  Walter,)  Van  Twiller, 
[:(f]  was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgo- 
masters, who  had  successively  dozed  away  their  lives, 
and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  Inagistracy  in  Rotter- 
6  dam ;  and  who  had  comported  themselves  with  such 
singular  wisdom  and  propriety,  that  they  were  never 
either  heard  or  talked  of, — which,  next  to  being  universally 
applauded,  should  be  the  object  of  ambition  of  all  ages, 
magistrates,  and  rulers. 

10  His  surname,  Twiller,  is  said  to  be  a  corruption  of  the 
original  Twijfler,^  which,  in  English,  means  Doubter ;  a 
name  admirably  descriptive  of  his  deliberative  habits. 
For,  though  he  was  a  man  shut  up  within  himself,  like  an 
oyster,  and  of  such  a  profoundly  reflective  turn,  that  he 

15  scarcely  ever  spoke  except  in  monosyllables,  yet  did  he 
never  make  up  his  mind  on  any  doubtful  point.  This  was 
clearly  accounted  for  by  his  adherents,  who  affirmed  that 
he  always  conceived  every  object  on  so  comprehensive  a 
scale,  that  he  had  not  room  in  his  head  to  turn  it  over,  and 

20  examine  both  sides  of  it ;  so  that  he  always  remained  in 
doubt,  merely  in  consequence  of  the  astonishing  magnitude 
of  his  ideas  ! 

There  are  two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men  get 
into  notice, — one  by  talking  a  vast  deal,  and  thinking  a 

♦  Pronounced  TweeJUr. 
13^ 


160  AMERICAN   CO^rMON-SCHOOL  [PAR^.     0. 

little,  and  the  other,  by  holding  their  tonc^^ies  and  not 
thinking  at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a  vaporing,  superficial 
pretender  acquires  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  quick  parts, 
— by  the  other,  many  a  vacant  dunderpate,  like  the  owl, 
6  the  stupidest  of  birds,  comes  to  be  complimented,  by  a 
discerning  world,  with  all  the  attributes  of  wisdom.  This, 
by  the  way,  is  a  mere  casual  remark,  which  1  would  not. 
for  the  universe,  have  it  thought  I  apply  to  Governor  Van 
T wilier.    On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  very  wise  Dutchman  ; 

10  for  he  never  said  a  foolish  thing, — and  of  such  invincible 
gravity,  that  he  was  never  known  to  laugh,  or  even  to 
smile,  through  the  course  of  a  long  and  prosperous  life. 
Certain,  however,  it  is,  there  never  was  a  matter  proposed, 
however  simple,  and    on  which    your   common  narrow- 

15  minded  mortals  would  rashly  determine  at  the  first  glance, 
but  what  the  renowned  Wouter  put  on  a  mighty  mysteri- 
ous, vacant  kind  of  look,  shook  his  capacious  head,  and 
having  smoked,  for  five  minutes,  with  redoubled  earnest- 
ness, sagely  observed,  that  "  he  had  his  doubts  about  the 

20  matter," — which  in  process  of  time  gained  him  the  charac- 
ter of  a  man  slow  in  belief,  and  not  easily  imposed  on. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman,  was  as  reg- 
ularly formed,  and  nobly  proportioned,  as  though  it  had 
been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  some  cunning  Dutch  statu- 

25  ary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and  lordly  grandeur.  He  was 
exactly  five  feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  six  feet  five 
inches  in  circumference.  His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere, 
and  of  such  stupendous  dimensions,  that  dame  Nature, 
with  all  her  sex's  ingenuity,  would  have  been  puzzled  to 

30  construct  a  neck  capable  of  supporting  it ;  wherefore  she 
wisely  declined  the  attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the 
lop  of  his  back  bone,  just  between  the  shoulders^  His 
body  was  of  an  oblong  form,  particularly  capacious  at 
bottom ;  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Providence,  seeing 

35  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary  habits,  and  very  averse  to 
the  idle  labor  of  walking.  His  legs,  though  exceeding 
short,  were  sturdy  in  proportion  to  the  weight  they  had  to 
sustain ;  so  that,  when  erect,  he  had  not  a  little  the  appear- 
ance of  a  robustious  beer-barrel,  standing  on  skids.     His 

40  face,  that  infallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a  vast 
expanse,  perfectly  unfurrowed  or  deformed  by  any  of  those 
lines  and  angles  which  disfigure  the  human  countenance 
with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two  small  gray  eyes 
twinkled  feebly  in  the  midst,  like  two  stars  of  lesser  mag- 


I 


fART   n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  161 

nitude  m  the  ha^y  firmament;  and  his  full-fed  cheeks, 

which  seemed  to  have  taken  toll  of  every  thing  that  went 
into  his  mouth,  were  curiously  mottled  and  streaked  with 
dusky  red,  like  a  Spitzenberg  apple. 
5  His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He  daily 
took  his  four  stated  meals,  appropriating  exactly  an  hour 
to  each  ;  he  smoked  and  doubted  eight  hours  ;  and  he  slept 
the  remaining  twelve  of  the  four-and-twenty.  Such  was 
the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller, — a  true  philosopher  ; 

10  for  his  mind  was  either  elevated  above,  or  tranquilly  settled 
below,  the  cares  and  perplexities  of  this  world.  He  had 
lived  in  it  for  years,  without  feeling  the  least  curiosity  to 
know  whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it  round  the 
sun  ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least  half  a  century,  the 

15  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to  the  ceiling,  without  once 
troubling  his  head  with  any  of  those  numerous  theories, 
by  which  the  philosopher  would  have  perplexed  his  brain, 
in  accounting  for  its  rising  above  the  surrounding  atmos- 
phere.   

LESSON    LI. INVOCATION    OF    MIRTH. Milton, 

[The  extract  which  follows,  is  an  example  of  the  <  quick '  rate  of 
utterance,  which  characterizes  the  tones  of  joy  and  mirth.  The 
voice,  in  the  reading  of  such  passages  as  the  following,  moves  with 
^reat  rapidity,  in  comparison  with  the  ordinary  rate.  The  utterance, 
m  this  mstance,  is  ' high '  and  '  loud',  as  well  as  '  very  quick'.  The 
practice  of  this  style,  is  useful,  not  only  for  its  immediate,  but  its 
general  effect.  It  enlivens  the  tones  of  the  voice,  and  imparts  flueneif 
m  enimr.iatian.] 

[I  ®  u  u]     Haste  thee,  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles. 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles, 
5  Such  as  hang  on  Hebe*s  *  cheek, 

And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek  ; 
Sport,  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Come,  and  trip  it,  as  you  go, 
[0  On  the  light  fantastic  toe; 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee, 
The  mountain -nymph,  sweet  Liberty ; 
And,  if  I  give  thee  honor  due. 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 

♦  The  goddess  of  youth 


152  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAIT  JL 

To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  theej* 

In  unrep'-oved  pleiisures  free  ; 

To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight, 

And,  singing,  startle  the  dull  night, 
6  From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 

Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise  ; 

Then  to  come,  in  spile  of  sorrow, 

And  at  my  window  bid  good  morrow, 

Through  the  sweet  brier  or  the  vine, 
10  Or  the  twisted  eglantine  : 

While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand, 

Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land. 

And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 

And  the  mower  whets  his  sithe, 
15  And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale, 

Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures. 

While  the  landscape  round  it  measures, 

Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray, 
20  Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray, 

Meadows  trim,  with  daisies  pied. 

Shallow  brooks  and  rivprs  wide. 
Sometimes  with  secure  delight, 

The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 
25  When  the  merry  bells  ring  round. 

And  the  jocund  rebecs^  sound 

To  many  a  youth,  and  many  a  maid, 

Dancing  in  the  checkered  shade  ; 

And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play, 
30  On  a  sunshine  holy-day, 

Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail. 


LESSON    LII. — MARCO    BOZZARIS. F.  G.  HALLECK. 

[The  marking  of  the  following  piece,  is  extended  to  the  indicaliou 
of  Uones^  and  'modulation',  'stress',  and  'quality';  as  all  these 
modes  of  voice,  are  inseparably  connected  in  utterance,  and  all  of 
them  arise  from  emotion,  as  their  common  source.  The  principal 
points  in  emphasis,  inflection,  and  pausing,  are  also  indicated,  whJer- 
ever  they  are  essential  elements  oi  *  expression\] 

This  heroic  chief  fell  in  an  attack  upon  the  Turkish 
camp  at  Laspi,  the  site  of  the  ancient  Plataea,  August  20, 
1823,  and  expired  in  the  moment  of  victory.      His  last 

*  Rebec,  a  peculiar  sort  of  violin. 


^ART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  153 

words  were, — "  To  die  for  liberty  is*  a  pleasure,  and  not  a 
pain." 
[x  o  — ]  At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour  ' 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, — 
Should  trlmhle  at  his  power ; 
'  In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court,  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror  ; 

<  <       In  dreams,  his  song  of  trmvijph  \  heard ; 

Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet  rbigy — 
^Then  press'd  that  monarch's  throne, — a  kIng; 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wingj 
As  Eden's  gdrdeii  bird, 

[x  o  — ]   An  hour  |  pass'd  6n  :— [I  u]  the  Turk  awoke  ;— 
|-o  _-|  ^jj^fii  bright  dream  II  [o]  was  his  last; — 
He  woke — to  hear  his  sentry's  shriek, 
-|  I  o  o  y-j     u  To  ARMS  !  they  come :  the  Gr^ek  !  the  GREEK  !^ 
He  woke — [q]  to  d'ie  11  midst /a77i€  and  sinokcy 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sdbre-stroke, 

And  death-shots  \  falling  thick  '  and  fast  | 
As  lightnings  '  from  the  mountain  cloud; 
-<     And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

<  Bozzaris  \  cheer  his  band; — 

[I  I  **  u]     "  Str'Ike — till  the  last  arm'd  foe  '  expires, 

STRIKE— for  your  altars  '  and  yo\xr  fires, 
STRIKE — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sIres, 
G6d, — and  your  native  lXnd  ! " 

[I]       They  fouo-ht,  like  brave  men,  long  '  and  wkU, 
They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain; 

<  They  c67iquer'd;—[y.  o  — ]  ^"^  Bozzaris  \  i^ll, 

Bleeding  '  at  every  vein, 
[x®— ]     His  few  '  surviving  comrades  II  saw 

His   smile,  when  rang  their  proitd  hurrXh, 
And  the  red  field  '  was  won  ; 
[xx  o  =  ]Then  saw  |  in  death  '  his  eyelids  close  \ 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 
hike  Jlowers  '  at  set  o(  sun. 

fx^^— ]   Co7ne  to  the  bridal  cMmber,  Death  ! 

Come  to  the  mother,  when  she  feels, 
For  the/?*.'?/  time,  \\cx  first  bom's  brlath ;'^ 
Come  '  when  the  blessed  seals  • 


1^  AMCTioAir  ctwnmtPiOHDeTi  [part  u. 


Which  close  the  phtilence  \  are  hi'Ske, 
<     And  crowded  cities  \  wail  its  stroke  ; — 
Co7ne  I  in  Coiisiiviptioji's  ghastly  form, 
[I]       The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm  : — 

Come  I  when  the  Jieart  '  beats  high  \  and  tcarm^ 
With  hhiquet'Song,  and  d&nce,  and  ?H7i^, — 
[Xoo""]  And  thou  art  terrible  :  the  that, 

The  groan,  the  Avit//,  the  pall,  the  Wer, 
And  all  we  k?i6w,  or  dream,  ox  fear  * 
Of  agony,  are  ^Ai^i^. 

[I  ®  u]    But  to  the  HERO, — when  his  sword 
Has  toon  the  battle  for  the  free, — 
Thy  voice  |  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word, 
And  '  in  its  hollow  tones  \  are  heard 
The  thanks  of  uhllions  |  yet  to  hk, 
[x  o  — ]    Bozzdris  !  with  the  storied  brave  • 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
jR^5^  thee  : — there  is  no  prouder  grave. 
Even  in  her  ojvn  proud  clime. 
We  tell  thy  doom  '  without  a  sigh  ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom^s  now,  and  Fame's, — 
One  of  the  fI:w,  the  imm6rtal  names, 
That  were  not  born  to  die. 


[II] 


>  •< 


LESSON    Llll. WATERLOO. ByrOTl, 

[Marked  as  Lesson  LIL] 

[•      J      There  was  a  sound  '  of  revelry  by  night, 

And  Belgium's  capital  II  had  gathered  '  then  | 
-<    Her  beauty  '  and  her  chivalry ;  and  bright  ' 
<    The  lamps '  shone  |  o'er  fair  women  \  and  brave  mln , 

!|  **]        A  thousand  hearts  I  beat  hhppily,  and  when 
x]  <    Music  '  arose  '  witn  its  voluptuo7is  sivell, 

Soft  eyes  |  look'd  love  '  to  eyes  which  spake  again , 
<:    And  all  '  w^nt  merry  as  a  marriage-bUl  : 
\%o^]  But  H^^sn!  HARK! — a  deep  sound  \  strikes  '  like  o 
[  J.  ^.]  rising  knhU  ! 

W  •  o]       Did  ye  not  hear  it  ?  [I  — ]  N6  ;  't  was  but  the  wind^ 
Or  the  car  \  rattling  o*er  the  stony  street ; 
On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  '  be  unco7iftncd ; 
•<    No  sleep  till  inorn,  when  Youth  •  and  Pleasure  '  meeti 
-<    To  chase  the  glowing  hours  '  wkh  flying  fiet — 


PART  II.]  READER  AND  SPEAKER.  IfiS 

[x  o  w]     But  hXrk  ! — that  heavy  sound  \  breaks  in  '  once  more^ 

<  As  if  the  clouds  II  its  echo  '  would  repeat ; 

<  And  nkarer^  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  ! 
fll'^uu]  Arm  !  —ARM  I — [|  ^  — ]  it  is, — it  is, — the  cannon's  open- 
la.  g.]  ing  roar  I 

[     ]       Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall  II 
Sat  Biiinswick's fated  chieftain;  he  did  hear  ' 
That  sound  '  i\ie  first  \  amidst  the  festival, 
And  caught  its  tone  '  with  d^atKs  prophetic  ear  ; 
And  when  they  smiled  '  because  he  deem'd  it  niary 
His  heart  \  more  truly  kneio  that  peal  '  too  well  II 
Which  stretched  his  father  '  on  a  bloody  bier, 
-<  And  rozcsed  the  vengeance  \  blood  '  alone  '   would 
quUl  : 
<  He  rush'd  into  ihcjleld,  andy  foj'emost  fighting,  fell. 

[x  o  u]    Ah !  then  '  and  there  '  was  hurrying  to  and /ro. 

[a.  q.]     And  gatheriyig  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress. 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  |  but  an  hour  ago  II 
Blush'd  '  at  the  praise  of  their  own  Ibvelijiess  ; 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  '  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs  I' 

[o  ""]      Which  7^cV7•  might  be  repeated  ;  who  could  guess  11 
If  ever  more  •  should  meet  '  those  mutual  eyes, 
[boo—]  Since  upon  night  '  so  sweet,  such  awful  morn  \  could 
rise  ! 

[I  o  u]      And  there  was  mounting  '  in  hot  hiiste  ;  the  stled^ 
The  nuistering  squcidro?i,  and  the  clattering  cdr, 
Went  pouri?ig  fortaaj'd  '  with  impetuous  spkcd, 
And  swiftly  forming  '  in  the  ranks  o(  wdr  : 
n  Q  — ]     And  the  deejj  thunder,  peal  on  peal  '  afar  ; 
And  niar,  the  beat  of  the  alarnmig  drum  \ 
[I  u]       Roused  up  the  soldier  '  ere  the  morning-stUr  ; 
[x  °  u]     While  thronged  the  citizeyis  \  with  terror  ditmb, 

Or  7ohisperinsr  I'  with  white  lips  '  [°J  "The  f6e  !  They 
[a.  <7.]  coiviCthey  C6ME  !" 

[I  °]      And  tvild  '  and  /u^'-^  |  the  "  CdmeroiVs  gathering  ** 
rose  ! 
\pu.  t.^^    The  war-note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyii's  hills  \ 

Have  A^arrf  II  and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes 

[I  o  ■"]    -^"^^  '  ^'^  ^^^  "00"  ^^  night  '  Ma^  pibroch  '  thrills^ 

Savage  \  and  .^/^r?//  /  But  with  the  breath  which  fills 

<  Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  motcntainkers  | 


IM  AMERICAN    COMT^ION-SCIIOOL  [PART   n 

-<  With  the  Jierce  native  daring  II  which  instils  | 
<:  The  stirring  memory  '  of  a  thousand  yhars  ; 
[II ^0]  And  ilvan'Sy  Doyiald's  fame  II  rings  |  in  each  clans 
man's  ears  ! 

fXo-"]      And  Ardcnyies^  '  waves  above  ihem  •  her  green 

leaves, — 
p.         ,     Dewy»  with  nature's  tear-drops, — as  they  p&ss, 
LP    •  •!     Grievi?ig, — if  aught  iyianiifiate  '  e'er  grieves,— 
Over  the  tinrctitrning  hrhve^ — [©  q\  aids  ! 
Ere  evening  '  to  be  trodden  like  the  grcLSS  II 
Which  71010  •  beneath  them,  but  above  '  shall  grow 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass  |  < 
-<  Oi  living  valor  \  [u]  rolling  on  the/oe, 

-<  [u]  And  burjiing  with  high  hope^  [x  ^q  =]  shall  moulder 
cold  I  and  low.  > 

[     ]      Last  noon  H  beheld  them  fidl  of  Z?^5fy  Zi/e, 
[[>]       Last  eve  II  in  beauty's  circle  '  proudly  gay^ 

<  The  midnight  |  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife, 
<-  The  77ior7i  II  the  marshalling  in  dr7«5, — the  <fdy  II 

<  Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  ! 

[x  o  — ]  The  thunder -clouds  \  close  o'er  it,  which  '  when  rint 

The  earth  \  is  cover'd  thick  \  with  oMcr  clay, 
[x  oo  =  ]  Which  her  div7i  clay  shall  cover,  heap'd  and  7;^7t?, 

Rider  and  horse y — -friendyfoe, — in  oTie  '  red  '  burial  -< 
'  3Ze7i^  

LESSON  Liv. — PRUSSIAN  BATTLE  HYMN. —  Traiislatcd  from 

KiJrnerA 

[Marked  as  Lesson  LI  I.] 

[Xo~]   Father  of  earth  '  and  heaven!  I  call  Thy .iiume  ! 

<  Round  me  the  smoke  '  and  sh6ut  '  of  battle  \  r611 ; 
[I  — ]     My  eyes  \  are  dazzled  \  with  the  rustli?ig  fi^7fie  ; 

[x  o  ""]        Father^  siisfdin,  an  untried  soldier's  50t^^. 
[I  — "]  Or  Itfcy  or  death,  whatHer  be  the  goal  | 

That  crowns  \  or  closes  round  •  ^4^  struggling  h&ur, 

Thou  knowest,  if  ever  |  from  my  spirit  '  stole  ' 
One  '  deeper  prdyer,  *t  was  |  that  7io  clbud  '  might 
lower  ' 
On  my  young  famcl — [I  ^  — ]  Oh !  u^ar  !   God  of  eter- 
n/il  pdwer  ! 

•  Pronounced  Ardcn. 

t  The  0  in  this  word  has  no  corrcspoudrnt  sound  in  English  :  it 
!■  nearly,  ai>  the  French  au. 


PART    i:.]  READER    AND    SPE^EK.  167 

[— ]       God !  Thou  art  rnircifid.'^^hfb  iviiitry  st&riu, 

The  cloud   I   that  pours  Xfek  thunder  •  -from  its 

womb,  ^^^afe««^.^--^ 

But  show  the  sterner  grandeur  ofThy  form ; 

<  The  lightnings,  glancing  through  the  midnight 

gloom  y 
[x  o  — ]         To  Faith's  raised  eye  '  as  calm,  as  lovely  come, 

As  splendors  of  the  autumnal  '  evening  star, 
[xx®— ]         As  roses  \  shaken  by  the  dreeze^s  pliime, 

When  I  like  cool  iiicense  \  comes  the  deioy  dir. 
And  on  the  golden  ivdve,  the  sun-set  \  burns  afar, 

[lo"~]      God  I  Thou  art  mighty ! — At  thy  footstool  bound, 
Lie  gazing  to  thee,  Chdfice,  and  Life,  and  Dkath  ; 

<  Nor  in  the  Angel-circle  \  flaming  rAund, 

<  Nor  in  the  million  worlds  \  that  blaze  beneath, 

^       Is  one  I  that  can  withstand  Thy  wrath's  hot  brtath 
Wo  \  in  Thy  f roam — in  Thy  smile  \  victory  ! 
[oo]  Hear  my  last  jjrayer  ! — 1  ask  no  mortal  wreath  • 

[I]        Let  but  these  eyes  my  rescued  country  see, 
[o]    Then  take  my  spirit.  All  Omnipotent,  tK)  Th^e. 

[11°  u]     Noio  for  the  fight  ! — now  for  the  cannon-peal  ! — 
Forward  ! — through  blood,  and  toil,  and  cloud, 
and /i re ! 
'  Gl6rious  '  the  shout,  the  shock,  the  crash  of  steel, 
The  voLLEY^s  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire  ! 
They  shake, — like  broken  waves  \  their  squares 
retire. 
'   ON   them   hussIrs  ! — 'Now  '  give  them  rein  '  and 
heel  ! 
^   Think  of  the  orphaned  child,  the  murdered  sire  ;— 
Earth  '  cries  for  blood, — in  THtJNDER  •  on  them 
wheel ! 

[\^     ]  IViis  hour  II  to  Europe's  fate  II  shall  set  the  triumph' 
seal !  

LESSON    LV. BERNARDO    DEL    CARPIO. MrS.  HcmaUS, 

[This,  and  whatever  other  lessons  the  teacher  thinks  proper  to  select, 
may  \x  marked,  by  the  reader,  as  Lesson  J.II  ] 

The  celebrated  Spanish  champion,  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  having  made 
many  inefi'ectiial  efibrts  to  procure  the  release  of  his  father,  the  Count 
Saidana,  who  had  been  imj>risoned  by  King  Alfonso  of  Asturias, 
almost  from  the  time  of  Bernardo's  birth,  at  last  took  up  arms  hi 
aespair.  The  war  whicli  he  maintained,  proved  so  destructive,  that  the 
men  of  the  land  gathered  round  the  king,  and  united  ir  demanding 
14 


158  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

5*     '        s  hl>crty.     AUonso  acconiui  '       '^  red  Bernardo  iminediaw 
n  of  his  father's  person,  in  tor  his  caslle  ai  Carpio. 

'  ilalion,   gave  uj*  jus  Mrong  hold,   wilh  all  his 

>ared  thai  his  faiher  was  ihen  on  his  way  from 
jT.M'ii.  I  '     '       '  to  meet  him.    "And  when  he  saw  his 

Ihihcr  a;  •  d,"  says  the  ancient  chronicle,  "Oh! 

Otxl.  IS  ihc  (JuuiU  iialiUna  indeed  coming?"  "Look  where  he  is," 
rvj>licd  the  cruel  king,  "and  now  go  and  greet  him,  whom  you  have 
so  long  desired  to  sec." — The  remainder  of  the  story  will  be  found  re- 
lated in  the  ballad.  The  chronicles  and  romances  leave  us  nearly  in 
the  dark,  as  to  Bernardo's  future  history  after  this  event,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  final  interview  in  which  he  renounced  his  allegiance 
to  ihe  king. 

The  warrior  Vjwed  his  crested  head,  and  lamed  liis  heart  of  fire. 
And  sued  ll.c  haughty  king  to  free  his  long-imprisoned  sire ; 
*  I  bring  thee  here  my  fortress-keys,  I  bring  my  captive  train, 
I  pledge  thee  faith,  my  liege,  my  lord  !— Oh  !  break  my  father's  chain  !'* 

*'  Rise,  rise !  even  now  thy  father  comes,  a  ransomed  man  this  day 
Mount  thy  good  horse  ;  and  thou  and  1  will  meet  him  on  his  way."— 
Then  lightly  rose  that  loyal  son,  and  bounded  on  his  steed. 
And  urged,  as  if  with  lance  in  rest,  the  charger's  foamy  speed. 

And  lo !  from  far,  as  on  they  pressed,  there  came  a  glittering  band, 
With  one  that  'midst  them  stalely  rode,  as  a  leader  in  the  land  ; 
— **  Now  haste,  Bernardo,  haste !  for  there,  in  very  truth,  is  he, 
The  faiher  whom  thy  faithful  heart  hath  yearned  so  long  to  see." 

J  lis  dark  eye  flashed, — his  proud  breast  heaved, — his  cheek's  hue 

came  and  went, — 
He  reached  that  gnray-haired  chieftain's  side,  and  there  dismounting 

bent, 
A  lowly  knee  to  earth  he  bent,  his  father's  hand  he  took — 
What  was  there  in  its  touch  that  all  his  fiery  spirit  shook  ? 

That  hand  was  cold, — a  frozen  thing, — it  dropped  from  his  like  lead,— 
He  looked  up  to  the  face  above, — the  face  was  of  the  dead. 
A  plume  waved  o'er  the  noble  brow, — the  brow  was  fixed  and  whitt'  ;- 
He  met  at  last  his  father's  eyes, — but  in  them  was  no  sight ! 

Up  from  the  ground  he  sprang  and  gazed  ; — but  who  could  paint  tlia 

gazel 
They  hushed  their  very  hearts,  that  saw  its  horror  and  amaze  : — 
They  might  have  r^  "  'iin,  as  before  that  stony  form  he  stood  ; 

For  the  jKiwer  wa^s  >.  from  his  arm,  and  from  his  lip  the  bh^Hl. 

"Faiher !  *'  at  length  he  murmured  low,  and  wept  like  childhood  then- 
Talk  not  of  grief  till  thou  hast  seen  the  tears  of  warlike  men  ! 
He  thought  on  all  his  glorious  hopes,  and  all  his  young  renown, — 
Ho  flung  his  falchion  from  his  side,  and  in  tiic  dust  sat  down. 

Dieo  covering  with  his  steel-gloved  hands  his  darkly  mournful  brow, 
*No  more  there  is  no  more,*'  he  said,  ♦*  lo  lift  tlio  sword  for  now,— 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SVEAKER.  159 

My  king  is  false,  my  hope  betrayed  !     My  father — oh  !  the  worth, 
The  glory,  and  the  lovehness,  are  passed  away  from  earth ! 

**  I  thouj^ht  to  stand  where  banners  waved,  my  sire  !  beside  thee  yet  !— 
I  would  that  there  our  kindred  blood  on  Spain's  free  soil  had  met  !— 
Thou  wouldst  have  known  my  spirit,    then  ; — for    thee    my  fields 

were  won  ; 
And  thou  hast  perished  in  thy  chains,  as  though  thou  hadst  no  son  !'* 

Then  starting  from  the  ground  once  more,  he  seized  the  monarch's  rein. 
Amidst  the  pale  and  wildered  looks  of  all  the  courtier  train ; 
And  with  a  fierce,  o'ermastcring  grasp,  the  rearing  war-horse  led, 
And  sternly  set  them  face  to  face, — the  king  before  the  dead  : — 

"  Came  I  not  forth  upon  thy  pledge,  my  father's  hand  to  kiss? 
— He  still,  and  gaze  thou  on,  false  king !  and  tell  me  what  is  this? 
The  viiice,  the  glance,  tlie  heart  I  sought, — give  answer,  where  are 

they  ? 
— If  thou  wouldst  clear  thy  perjured  soul,  send  life  through  this  cold 

clay ! 

**  Into  tnese  glassy  eyes  put  light, — be  still !  keep  down  thin&  ire, — 
Hid  these  white  lips  a  blessing  speak, — this  earth  is  not  my  sire.: — 
Liive  me  back  him  for  whom  1  strov(3,  for  whom  my  blood  was  shed, — 
Thou  canst  not? — and  a  king  ! — his  dust  be  mountains  on  thy  head  !" 

He  loosed  the  steed, — his  slack  hand  fell ; — upon  the  silent  face 
He  cast  one  long,  deep,  troubled  look,  then  turned  from  that  s-id 

place : 
His  hope  was  crushed,  his  after-f[ite  untold  in  martial  strain  : — 
His  banner  led  the  spears  no  more,  amidst  the  hills  of  Spain. 


LESSON    LVI. WILLIA:\I    KIEFT. WASHINGTON    IRVING. 

Wilhelmus  Kieft  was  in  form,  features,  and  character, 
the  very  reverse  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  his  renowned 
predecessor.  He  was  of  very  respectable  descent,  his  fa- 
ther being  inspector  of  windmills,  in  the  ancient  town  of 
Saardam  ;  and  our  hero,  we  are  told,  made  very  curious 

6  investigations  into  the  nature  and  operations  of  those  ma- 
chines, when  a  boy,  which  is  one  reason  why  he  after- 
wards came  to  be  so  ingenious  a  governor.  His  name, 
according  to  the  most  ingenious  etymologists,  was  a  cor- 
ruption of  Kyver,  that  is  to  say,  wraiigler  or  scolder^  and 

10  expressed  the  hereditary  disposition  of  his  family  ;  which, 
for  nearly  two  centuries,  had  kept  the  windy  town  of 
Saardam  in  hot  water,  and  produced  more  tartars  and 
brimstones,  than  any  ten  families  in  the  place ; — and  so 


160  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  U 

truly  did  Wilhclmus  Kicft  inherit  this  family  endo%\Tnent 
Uial  he  had  scarcely  been  a  year  in  the  discharge  of  his 
government,  before  he  was  universally  known  by  the  ap- 
pellation of  William,  the  Testy. 
6  He  was  a  brisk,  waspish,  little  old  gentleman,  who  had 
dried  and  withered  away,  partly  through  the  natural  pro- 
cess of  years,  and  partly  from  being  parched  and  burnt  up 
by  his  hery  soul;  which  blazed  like  a  vehement  rushlight 
in  his  bosom,  constantly  inciting  him   to  most  valorous 

10  broils,  altercations,  and  misadventures.  I  have  hoard  it 
observed,  by  a  profound  and  philosophical  judge  of  human 
nature,  that  if  a  woman  waxes  fat,  as  she  grows  old,  ihe 
tenure  of  her  life  is  very  precarious,  but  if  happily  i^he 
withers,  she  lives  forever. — Such  likewise  was  the  case 

15  with  William,  the  Testy,  who  grew  tougher  in  pioportion 

as  he  dried.     He  was  some  such  a  little  Dutchman,  as  we 

may  now  and  then  see  stumping  briskly  about  the  streets 

^  of  our  city,  in  a  broad-skirted  coat,  with  huge  buttons,  an 

old-fashioned  cocked  hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his   lu  :id, 

20  and  a  cane  as  high  as  his  chin.  His  visage  was  broad, 
and  his  features  sharp,  his  nose  turned  up  with  the  niosi 
petulent  curl;  his  cheeks  were  scorched  into  a  dusky  red, 
— doubtless  in  consequence  of  the  neighborhood  of  two 
fierce    little   gray   eyes,  through    which   his    torrid    Sv)ul 

25  beamed  with  tropical  fervor.  The  corners  of  his  mouth 
were  curiously  modelled  into  a  kind  of  fretwork,  ncn  a 
little  resembling  the  wrinkled  proboscis  of  an  irritable  ]-ug 
dog; — in  a  word,  he  was  one  of  the  most  positive,  restlrss, 
ugly,  little  men,  that  ever  put  himself  in  a  passion  about 

30  nothing. 

Such  were  the  personal  endowments  of  William,  the 
Testy;  but  it  was  the  sterling  riches  of  his  mind,  that 
raised  him  to  dignity  and  power.  In  his  youth,  he  had 
pa       '       "th  great  credit,  through  a  ct  '  '         I  academy  at 

35  ih<  ,  noted  for  producing  fmi^l  olars,  with  a 

despatch  unequalled,  except  by  certain  of  our  American 
colleges.  Here  he  skirmished  very  smartly,  on  the  fron- 
tiers of  several  of  the  sciences,  and  made  so  gallant  an 
inroad  in  the  dead  languages,  as  to  bring  otT  a 

10  host  of  Greek  nouns  and  Latin  verbs,  together  wi: is 

pithy  saws  and  apothegms,  all  which  he  constantly  parad^-d 
in  conversation  and  writing,  with  as  much  vain-glory 
as  would  a  triumphant  general  of  yore  display  th^goiU 
of  the  countries  he  had  ravaged 


lU^DO 

m 


I 


PART   11.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  161 

It  is  in  knowledge,  as  in  swimming  ;  he  who  osten- 
tatiously sports  and  flounders  on  the  surface,  makes  more 
noise  and  splashing,  and  attracts  more  attention,  than  the 
industrious  pearl  diver,  who  plunges  in  search  of  trea- 
t  sures  at  the  bottom.  The  "  universal  acquirements "  of 
William  Kieft  were  the  subject  of  great  marvel  and  ad- 
miration among  his  countrymen, — he  figured  about  at  the 
Hague,  with  as  much  vain-glory,  as  does  a  profound  Bonze 
at  Pekin",  who  has  mastered  half  the  letters  of  the  Chinese 
iO  alphabet ;  and,  in  a  word,  was  unanimously  pronounced 
a  ujiiversal  genius! — I  have  known  many  universal  ge- 
niuses in  my  time  ;  though,  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  I 
never  knew  one,  who,  for  the  ordinary  purposes  of  life, 
was  worth  his  weight  in  straw ; — but,  for  the  purposes  of 
5  government,  a  little  sound  judgment,  and  plain  comm.on 
sense,  is  worth  all  the  sparkling  genius  that  ever  wrote 
poetry,  or  invented  theories. 


LESSON    LVII. PALMYRA. WILLIAM   WARE. 

Letter  from  a  Roman  nobleman,  resident  at  Palmyra. 

If  the  gods,  dear  Marcus  and  Lucilia,  came  down  to 

dwell  upon  earth,  they  could  not  but  choose  Palmyra  for 

their  seat,  both  on  account  of  the  general  beauty  of  the 

city  and  its  surrounding  plains,  and  the  exceeding  sweet- 

5  ness  and  serenity  of  its  climate.     It  is  a  joy  here  only  to 

sit  still  and  live.     The  air,  always  loaded  with  perfume, 

seems  to  convey  essential  nutriment  to  ihose  who  breathe 

it ;  and  its  hue,  especially  when  a  morning  or  evening  sun 

shines  through  it,  is  of  that  golden  cast,  which,  as  poets 

10  feign,  bathes  the  top  of  Olympus. 

Never  do  we  tremble  here  before  blasts  like  those  which 
from  the  Apennines  sweep  along  the  plains  and  cities  of 
the  Italian  coast.     No  extremes  of  either  heat  or  cold,  are 
experienced  in  this  happy  spot.     In  winter,  airs,  which,  in 
15  other  places,  equally  far  to  the  north,  would  come  bearing 
with  them  an  icy  coldness,  are  here  tempered  by  the  vast 
deserts  of  sand,  which  stretch  away  in  every  direction,  and 
which,  it  is  said,  never  w'holly  lose  the  heat  treasured  up 
during  the  fierce  reign  of  the  summer  sun.     And,  in  sum- 
20  mer,  the  winds  which,  as  they  pass  over  the  deserts,  are 
indeed  like  the  breath  of  a  furnace,  long  before  they  reach 
the  city  change  to  a  cool  and  refreshing  breeze,  by  travers- 
ing, as  they  do,  the  vast  tracts  of  cultivated  ground,  whicht 
14# 


162  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAET   O. 

as  I  have  already  told  you,  surround  the  capital,  to  a  very 
great  extent  on  every  side. 

PalmjTa  is  the  very  heaven  of  the  body.  Every  sense 
is  fed  to  the  full,  with  that  which  it  chiefly  covets.     But 

5  when  I  add  to  this,  that  its  unrivalled  position,  in  respect 
to  a  great  inland  traflic,  has  poured  into  the  lap  of  its  in- 
habitants a  sudden  and  boundless  flood  of  wealth,  making 
every  merchant  a  prince,  you  will  truly  suppose,  that 
however  heartily  I  extol  it  for  its  outward  beauties,  and 

10  all  the  appliances  of  luxury,  I  do  not  conceive  it  very  fa- 
vorable in  its  influences  upon  the  character  of  its  pop- 
ulation. 

Palmyrenes,  charming  as  they  are,  are  not  Romans. 
They  are  enervated  by  riches,  and  the  luxurious  sensual 

15  indulgences  which  they  bring  along,  by  necessity,  in  their 
train ; — all  their  evil  power  being  here  increased  by  the 
voluptuous  softness  of  the  climate.  I  do  not  say,  that 
all  are  so.  All  Rome  cannot  furnish  a  woman  more 
truly  Roman  than  Fausta,  nor  a  man  more  worthy  that 

20  name  than  Gracchus.  It  is  of  the  younger  portion  of  the 
inhabitants  I  now  speak.  These  are,  without  exception, 
eflfeminate.  They  love  their  country  and  their  gnal 
queen;  but  they  are  not  a  defence,  upon  which  in  time  of 
need  to  rely.     Neither  do  I  deny  them  courage.     They 

25  want  something  more  vital  still, — bodily  strength  and  m;ir- 
tial  training.  Were  it  not  for  this,  I  should  almost  fr  ;ir 
for  the  issue  of  any  encounter  between  Rome  and  Pal- 
myra. 

But,  as  it  is,  notwithstanding  the  great  achievements  of 

30  Odenatus  and  Zenobia,  I  cannot  but  deem  the  glory  of 
this  state  to  have  risen  to  its  highest  point,  and  even  lo 
have  passed  it.  You  may  think  me  to  be  hasty,  in  fori;i- 
ing  this  opinion ;  but  I  am  persuaded  you  will  agree  wiih 
me,  when  you  shall  have  seen  more  at  length  the  groumls 

35  upon  whicn  I  rest  it,  as  they  are  laid  down  in  inV  laoi 
letter  lo  Portia.  4B  ' 

LESSON    LVin. BEAUTIES   OF   NATURE. — SAMUEL  O.  HOWE 

There  is  nothing  in  which  the  goodness  of  God  is  moro 
apparent,  than  in  the  unsparing  flood  of  beauty  which  !.o 
pours  out  upon  all  things  around  us.  AVliat  is  more  striL- 
mg  than  the   fact,  that  this  beautiful   canopy  of  cIou(!s 

6  which  curtain  over  our  globe,  when  looked   down  upoti 
from  a  mountain-top,  or  from  a  balloon,  is  like  a  Iqadi  ii 


II 


PART    n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  163 

lake,  without  beauty,  or  even  color;  it  is  like  the  dull 
canvass  on  the  reverse  of  a  beautiful  picture ;  but  from 
within, — from  where  God  meant  man  to  see  it,  it  is 
adorned,  beautified,  and  variegated,  in  a  manner  mimi- 
5  table  by  art. 

Dainty  people  cross  the  seas,  to  be  thrilled  by  the  wild 
sketches  of  Salvator  Kosa,  or  to  languish  over  the  soft 
tints  of  Guide ;  and  the  rich  man  beggars  whole  villages, 
,to  hang  up  in  his  gallery  thre^  square  feet  of  the  pencil- 

10  work  of  Corregio;  but  God  hangs  up  in  the  summer 
evening  sky,  for  the  poorest  peasant  boy,  a  picture  whole 
leagues  in  extent,  the  tints  of  which  would  make  Raphael 
throw  down  his  pencil  in  despair  ;  and  when  He  gathers 
together  the  dark  folds  of  the  sky,  to  prepare  the  autumn 

15  tliunder  storm.  He  heaves  up  the  huge  clouds  into  moun- 
tain masses,  throws  them  into  wild  and  sublime  attitudes, 
colors  them  with  the  most  lowering  hues,  and  forms  a 
picture  which  Michael  Angelo,  with  all  his  genius,  could 
not  copy. 

20  The  rich  man  adorns  his  cabinet  with  a  few  costly 
works,  which  hang  unchanged  for  years,  while  the  poor 
man's  gallery  is  not  only  adorned  with  pictures  thai 
eclipse  the  chef  d'cBUvres  of  human  genius,  but  they  are 
continually  changed,  and  every  hour  a  new  one  is  hung 

25  up  to  his  admiring  gaze ;  for  the  firmament  rolls  on,  and, 
like  a  great  kaleidoscope,  at  every  turn,  presents  a  new 
and  beautiful  combination  of  light,  and  shade,  and  color. 
Let  not  its  rich  pictures  roil  away  unheeded ;  let  not  its 
lessons  be  lost  upon  the  young ;  but  let  them,  in  admiring 

30  it,  know  that  God's  great  hand  is  ever  turning  it,  for  the 
happiness  of  all  his  children. 


LESSON    LIX. AN    INTERESTING    ADVENTURE. WILLIAM  J. 

SNELLING. 

I  wandered  far  into  the  bare  prairie,  which  was  spread 
around  me  like  an  ocean  of  snow,  the  gentle  undulations 
here  and  there  having  no  small  resemblance  to  the  ground 
swell.  When  the  sun  took  off  his  night-cap  of  mist,  (for 
5  the  morning  was  cloudy,)  the  glare  o(  the  landscape,  or 
rather  snowscfipc,  was  absolutely  painful  to  my  eyes;  but 
a  small  veil  of  green  crape  obviated  that  difficulty.  To- 
ward noon  I  was  aware  of  a  buffalo,  at  a  long  distant-?, 


164  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

turnincT  wp  the  snow  with  his  nose  and  feel,  and  cropping 
the  withered  grass  beneath.  I  always  ihougiu  it  a  deed 
of  mercy  to  slay  such  on  old  fellow,  he  looks  so  miserable 
and  discontented  with  himself.  As  to  the  individual  in 
5  question,  I  determined  to  put  an  end  to  his  long,  turbu- 
lent, and  evil  life. 

To  this  efTecl,  I  approached  hini,  as  a  Chinese  malefac- 
tor approaches  a  mandarin, — that  is  to  say,  prone,  like  a 
serpent.     But  the  parity  only  exists  with  respect  to  the 

10  posture ;  for  the  aforesaid  malefactor  expects  to  receive 
pain,  whereas  I  intended  to  inflict  it.  He  was  a  grim- 
looking  barbarian, — and,  if  a  beard  be  a  mark  of  wisdom, 
Peter,  the  Hermit,  was  a  fool  to  him.  So,  when  I  had  at- 
tained a  suitable  proximity,  I  appealed  to  his  feelings  with 

l5  a  bullet.  He  ran, — and  I  ran  ;  and  I  had  the  best  reason 
to  run, — for  he  ran  after  me,  and  I  thought  that  a  pair  of 
horns  might  destroy  my  usual  equanimity  and  equilibri- 
um. In  truth,  I  did  not  fly  any  too  fast,  for  the  old 
bashaw   was   close   behind  me,  and   I   could   hear   him 

^0  breathe.  I  threw  away  my  gun  ; — and,  as  there  was  no 
tree  at  hand,  I  gained  the  centre  of  a  pond  of  a  lew 
yards  area,  such  as  are  found  all  over  the  prairies  in 
February. 

Here  I  stood  secure,  as  though  in  a  magic  circle,  well 

^5  knowing  that  neither  pigs  nor  bufialoes  can  walk  upon 
ice.  My  pursuer  was  advised  of  this  fact  also,  and  did 
not  venture  to  trust  himself  on  so  slippery  a  footing.  Yet 
it  seemed  that  he  was  no  gentleman  ;  at  least  he  did  not 
practise    forgiveness   of  injuries.      He  perambulated  the 

30  periphery  of  the  pond,  till  I  was  nearly  as  cold  as  the  ice 
under  me.  It  was  worse  than  the  stone  jug,  or  the  bla<  k- 
hole  at  Calcutta.  Ah  !  thought  I,  if  I  only  had  my  gun, 
I  would  soon  relieve  you  from  your  post. 

But  discontent  was  all  in  vain.     Thus  I  remained,  and 

35  thus  he  remained,  for  at  least  four  hours.  In  the  mem 
while,  I  thought  of  the  land  of  steady  habits;  of  bak<>d 
beans,  and  pumpkins,  and  codfish  on  Saturdays.  There, 
said  I,  to  myself,  my  neighbor's  proceeding  would  he 
reckoned  unlawful,  I  guess  ^  for  no  one  can  be  held  in 

40  custody  without  a  warrant  and  sufficient  reason.  If  ever 
I  get  back,  I  won*t  be  caught  in  such  a  gcrape  again. 

Grief  does  not  last  forever;  neither  does  anger; — and 
my  janitor,  either  forgetting  his  resentment,  which,  to  s;iy 
the  truth,  was  not  altogether  groundless,  or  thinking  it 


PA2T    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  105 

was  useless,  or  tired  of  his  self-imposed  duty,  or  for  some 
reason  or  other,  bid  me  farewell  with  a  loud  bellow,  and 
walked  away  to  a  little  oasis  that  was  just  in  sight,  and 
left  me  to  my  meditations.  I  picked  up  my  gun,  and  fol- 
5  lowed.  He  entered  the  wood,^and  so  did  I,  just  in  time 
to  see  him  fall  and  expire. 

The  sun  was  setting;  and  the  weather  was  getting 
colder  and  colder.  I  could  hear  the  ground  crack,  and  the 
trees  split,  with  its  intensity.     I  was  at  least  twenty  miles 

10  from  home;  and  it  behoved  me,  if  I  did  not  wish  to  "  wake 
in  the  morning  and  find  myself  dead,"  to  make  a  fire  as 
speedily  as  possible.  I  now  first  perceived  that,  in  my 
very  natural  hurry  to  escape  from  my  shaggy  foe,  I  had 
lost  the  martin-skin,  wherein  I  carried  my  flint,  steel,  and 

15  tinder.  This  was  of  little  consequence  ;  I  had  often  made 
a  fire  by  the  aid  of  my  gun  before,  and  I  drew  my  knife 
and  began  to  pick  the  flint.  Death  to  my  hopes, — at  the 
very  first  blow,  I  struck  it  ten  yards  from  the  lock,  and  it 
was  lost  forever  in  the  snow. 

20  "  Well,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  I  have  cooked  a  pretty  kettle 
of  fish,  and  brought  my  calf's  head  to  a  fine  market. 
Shall  I  furnish  those  dissectors,  the  wolves,  with  a  sub- 
ject, or  shall  cold  work  the  same  effect  on  me  that  grief 
did  upon  Niobe?     Would  that  I  had  a  skin  like  a  buf- 

25  falo!" 

Necessity  is  the  spur,  as  well  as  the  mother,  of  invention ; 
and,  at  these  last  words,  a  new  idea  flashed  through  my 
brain  like  lightning.  I  verily  believe  that  I  took  olT  the 
skin  of  my  victim,  in  fewer  than  ten-  strokes  of  my  knife. 

30  Such  a  hide  entire  is  no  trifle  ;  it  takes  a  strong  man  to 
lift  it ; — but  I  rolled  the  one  in  question  about  me,  with 
the  hair  inward,  and  lay  down  to  sleep,  tolerably  sure  that 
neither  Jack  Frost,  nor  the  wolves,  could  get  at  me,  through 
an  armor  thicker  and  tougher,  than  the  sevenfold  shield 

35  of  Ajax. 

Darkness  closed  in  ;  and  a  raven  began  to  sound  his 
note  of  evil  omen,  from  a  neighboring  branch.  "  Croak  on, 
black  angel,"  said  I ;  "  I  have  heard  croaking  before  now, 
and  am  not  to  be  frightened  by  any  of  your  color."     Sud- 

40  denly  a  herd  of  wolves  struck  up  at  a  distance,  probably 
excited  by  the  scent  of  the  slain  buflalo.  "Howl  on,"  said 
I  ;  "  and,  being  among  wolves,  I  will  howl  too, — for  I  like 
to  be  in  the  fashion  :  but  that  shall  be  the  extent  of  our 
intimacy."     Accordingly,  I  upliftec?  my  voice,  like  &  pf»l»- 


166  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   11 

can  in  the  wilderness,  and  gave  iheni  back  their  noise, 
wiih  interest.  Then  1  lay  down  again,  and  moralized. 
This,  thought  I,  is  life.  What  would  my  poor  mother 
say,  if  she  were  alive  now?  I  have  read  books  of  adven- 
6  tures,  but  never  read  anything  like  this.  1  fell  asleep 
without  farther  ado. 


LESSON    LX. THOUGHTS    ON    POLITENESS. GEO.    8.    HILLARD. 

The  common  notion  about  politeness  is,  that  it  is  a  thing 
of  the  body,  and  not  of  the  mind ;  and  ihat  he  is  a  polite 
man  who  makes  certain  motions  in  a  graceful  manner,  and 
at  proper  times  and  places.  We  expect  the  dancing  nias- 
5  ter  to  teach  our  children  "  manners,*'  as  well  as  the  art  of 
cutting  awkward  capers  to  music.  But  the  truth  is,  that 
we  degrade  politeness  by  making  it  anything  less  than  a 
cardinal  virtue. 

The  happiness  of  life  is  made  up  of  an  infinite  numbei 

10  of  little  things,  and  not  of  startling  events  and  great  emo- 
tions ;  and  he  who  daily  and  hourly  diffuses  pleasure 
around  him  by  kind  ofliccs,  frank  salutations  and  cheerful 
looks,  deserves  as  well  of  his  species,  as  he,  who,  neglrit- 
ing  or  despising  all  these,  makes  up  for  it  by  occasional 

15  acts  of  generosity,  justice,  or  benevolence,  liesides,  the 
opportunity  of  doing  great  things  but  rarely  occurs,  while 
a  man  has  some  dozens  of  chances,  every  day  of  his  life, 
to  show  whether  he  be  polite  or  not. 

A  truly  polite  man  must,  in  the  first  place,  have  the  gift 

20  of  good  sense,  for  without  that  foimdation,  it  is  idle  to 
think  of  rearing  any,  even  the  smallest  superstructure. 
He  must  know  when  to  violate  that  code  of  convcntion.il 
forms,  which  common  consent  lias  established,  and  wb<  n 
not;  for  it  is  equally  a  mark  of  weakness,  to  be  a  slave 

25  to  these  forms,  or  to  despise  them.  He  must  have  pene- 
tration and  tact  enough,  to  adapt  his  conversation  and 
manner  to  circunjstances  and  individuals;  for  that  whi(  h 
is  politeness  in  the  drawing-room,  may  be  downright  rude- 
ness in  the  bar-room  or  the  stage-coach,  as  well  as  the 

30  converse. 

Above  all,  he  must  have  that  enlarged  and  catholic 
spirit  of  humility,  which  is  the  child  of  sclf-knowlod;  , 
and  the  parent  of  benevolence,  (indeed,  politeness  itself  is 
merely  l>enevolence,  seen  through   the  little  end  of  a  spy- 

36  glotfs,)  which,  not  content  with  bowing  low  to  this  rich 


PART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  167 

man  or  that  fine  lady,  respects  the  rights,  and  does  justice 
to  the  claims,  of  every  member  of  the  great  human  family. 
As  for  the  fastidious  and  exclu.sive  persons,  who  look 
down  upon  a  man  created  and  upheld  by  the  same  power 
5  as  themselves,  and  heir  to  the  same  immortal  desiinhes, 
because  he  does  not  dress  in  a  particular  style,  or  visit  in 
certain  houses,  they  are  out  of  the  question.  If  they  are 
too  weak  to  perceive  the  grotesque  absurdity  of  their  own 
conduct,  they  have  not  capacity  enough  to  master  the  al- 

10  phabet  of  good  manners.  If  angelic  natures  be  susceptible 
of  ludicrous  emotions,  we  kpow  of  nothing  more  likely  to 
call  them  forth,  than  the  sight  of  an  insect  inhabitant  of 
this  great  ant-hill,  assuming  airs  of  superiority  over  his 
brother  emmet,  because  he  has  a  few  more  grains  of  bar 

15  ley  in  his  granary,  or  some  other  equally  cogent  reason. 


LESSON  LXI. — SAME  SUBJECT  CONCLUDED. — ID. 

Of  the  gentlemen,  young  and  old,  whiskered  and  un- 
whiskered,  that  may  be  seen  in  Washington  street  any 
sunshiny  day,  there  is  not  one  who  does  not  think  himself 
a  polite  man,  and  who  would  not  very  much  resent  any 
5  insinuation  to  the  contrary.  Their  op;nion  is  grounded 
on  reasons  something  like  the  following.  When  they  go 
to  a  party,  they  make  a  low  bow  to  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  then  look  round  after  somebody  that  is  yoimg 
and  pretty  to  make  themselves  agreeable  to. 

10  At  a  ball,  they  will  do  their  utmost  to  entertain  their 
partner,  unless  the  fates  have  given  them  to  some  one 
who  is  ugly  and  awkward ;  and  they  will  listen  to  her  re- 
marks with  their  most  bland  expression.  If  they  are  invited 
to  a  dinner  party,  they  go  m  their  best  coats,  praise  their 

15  entertainer's  wine,  and  tell  the  lady  they  hope  her  chil- 
dren are  all  well.  If  they  tread  on  the  toes  of  a  well- 
dressed  person,  they  will  beg  his  pardon.  They  never 
spit  on  a  carpet ;  and,  in  walking  with  a  lady,  they  always 
give  her  the  inside ;  and,  if  the  practice  be  allowable,  they 

20  olFer  her  their  arm. 

So  far,  very  good  ;  but  I  must  always  see  a  man  in 
certain  situations,  before  I  decide  whether  he  be  polite  or 
not.  I  should  like  to  see  how  he  would  act,  if  placed  at 
dinner  between  an  ancient  maiden  lady,  and  a  country 

25  clergyman  with  a  small  salary  and  a  rusty  coat,  and  with 


168  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [rART  V 

some  distinguished  person  opposite  to  him.  I  wTint  to  se6 
him  on  a  liot  and  dusty  day,  silting  on  the  back  seat  of  a 
stage-coach,  when  the  driver  takes  in  some  poor  lone  wo- 
man, with  may  be  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  tells  the  gen- 
6  tlemen,  that  one  of  them  must  ride  outside  and  make  room 
for  her. 

I  want  to  be  near  him,  when  his  washer-woman  makes 
some  very  good  excuse  to  him  for  not  bringing  home  his 
clothes  at  the  usual  time,  or  not  doing  up  an  article  in 

10  exactly  the  style  he  wished.  I  want  to  hear  the  tone  and 
emphasis  with  which  he  gives  orders  to  servants  in  steam- 
boats and  taverns.  I  mark  his  conduct,  when  he  is  walk- 
ing with  an  umbrella,  on  a  rainy  day,  and  overtakes  an 
old  man,  or  an  invalid,  or  a  decei\t  looking  woman,  who 

15  are  exposed,  without  protection,  to  the  violence  of  the 
storm.  If  he  be  in  company  with  those  whom  he  thinks 
his  inferiors,  I  listen  to  hear,  if  his  conversation  be  entirely 
about  himself.  If  some  of  the  number  be  very  distin- 
guished, and  some  quite  unknown,  I  observe  whether  lie 

20  acts,  as  if  he  were  utterly  unconscious  of  the  presence  of 
these  last. 

These  are  a  few,  and  but  a  few,  of  the  tests  by  whicli  I 
try  a  man  ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  say,  there  are  very  few,  who 
can  stand  them  all.     There  is  many  a  one  who  passes  in 

25  the  w^orld  for  a  well-bred  man,  because  he  knows  when  to 
bow  and  smile,  that  is  down  in  my  tablets  for  a  selfish, 
Milgar,  unpolite  monster,  that  ioves  the  parings  of  his  own 
nails  better  than  his  neighbor's  whole  body.  Put  any 
man  in  a  situation,  where  he  is  called  upon  to  make  a  s;i- 

^0  crifice  of  his  own  comfort  and  ease,  without  any  equiva- 
lent in  return,  and  you  will  learn  the  difTcrcnce  betwe<  n 
true  politeness,  that  sterling  ore  of  the  heart,  and  ilie 
counterfeit  imitation  of  it,  which  passes  current  in  draw- 
ing-rooms.    Any  man  must  be  an  idiot,  not  to  be  polite  in 

35  society,  80  called ;  for  how  else  would  he  get  his  oysters 
and  Champagne  ? 


LESSON  LXII. COTTAGE  ON  THE  SWISS  ALPS. — BUCKMINSTER 

In  one  of  the  highest  regions  of  the  Swiss  Alps,  after  a 
day  of  excessive  labor,  in  reaching  the  summit  of  ot]*" 
journey,  near  those  thrones  erected  ages  ago  for  the  majc^^- 
tv  of  Nature,  we  stopped,  fatigued  and  dispirited,  on  a  spot 
destined  to  eternal   barrenness,  where  we  found  one  of 


PART   U.J  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  169 

these  rude  but  hospitable  inns  open  to  receive  us.  There 
was  not  another  human  habitation,  within  many  miles. 
All  the  soil,  which  we  could  see,  had  been  brought  thither, 
and  placed  carefully  round  the  cottage,  to  nourish  a  few 
5  cabbages  and  lettuces.  There  were  some  goats,  which 
supplied  the  cottagers  with  milk ;  a  few  fowls  lived  in  the 
house ;  and  the  greatest  luxuries  of  the  place  were  new- 
made  cheeses,  and  some  wild  alpine  mutton,  the  rare  pro- 
vision of  the  traveller.     Yet  here  Nature  had  thrown  off 

10  the  veil,  and  appeared  in  all  her  sublimity.  Summits  of 
bare  granite  rose  all  around  us.  The  snow-clad  tops  of  the 
distant  Alps,  seemed  to  chill  the  moon-beams  that  lighted 
on  them ;  and  we  felt  all  the  charms  of  the  picturesque, 
mingled  with  the  awe  inspired  by  unchangeable  grandeur. 

15  We  seemed  to  have  reached  the  original  elevations  of  the 
globe,  o'ertopping  forever  the  tumults,  the  vices,  and  the 
miseries  of  ordinary  existence,  far  out  of  hearing  of  the 
murmurs  of  a  busy  world,  which  discord  ravages,  and 
luxury  corrupts.     We  asked  for  the  album,  and  a  large 

20  folio  was  brought  to  us,  almost  filled  with  the  scrawls  of 
every  nation  on  earth  that  could  write.  Instantly  oui 
fatigue  was  forgotten;  and  the  evening  passed  away  pleas- 
antly in  the  entertainment  which  this  book  afforded  us. 


LESSON    LXIII. — PETER    STUYVESANT. WASHINGTON    IRVING. 

Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last,  and,  like  the  renowned 
Wouter  Van  Twiller,  he  was  also  the  best,  of  our  ancient 
Dutch  governors :  Wouter  having  surpassed  all  who  pre- 
ceded him,  and  Peter  having  never  been  equalled  by  any 
6  successor. 

To  say  merely  that  he  was  a  hero,  would  be  doing  him 
great  injustice  ; — he  was  in  truth  a  combination  of  heroes ; 
— for  he  was  of  a  sturdy,  raw-bone  make,  like  Ajax  Tela- 
mon,  with  a  pair  of  round  shoulders  that  Hercules  would 
10  have  given  his  hide  for,  (meaning  his  lion's  hide,)  when  he 
undertook  to  ease  old  Atlas  of  his  load.     He  was,  more- 
over, as  Plutarch  describes  Coriolanus,  not  only  terrible 
for  the  force  of  his  arm,  but  likewise  of  his  voice,  which 
sounded  as  though  it  came  out  of  a  barrel ;  and  like  the 
15  selfsame  warrior,  he  possessed  a  sovereign  contempt  for 
the  sovereign  people,  and  an  iron  aspect,  which  was  enough 
of  itself  to  make  the  very  bowels  of  his  adversaries  quake 
with  terror  and  dismay. 
15      ' 


170  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PABT   11 

All  iiii.>  in.iriial  excellciuy  was  inexpressibly  height 
ened  by  an  acciilenlal  advaniage,  with  which  1  am  sur 
prised  that  neither  Homer  nor  Virgil  have  graced  any  of 
their  heroes.  This  was  nothing  less  than  a  wooden  log 
5  which  was  the  only  prize  he  had  gained,  in  bravely  fight 
ing  the  battles  of  his  country,  but  of  which  he  was  s<i 
proud,  that  he  was  often  heard  to  declare,  he  valued  i* 
more,  than  all  his  other  limbs  put  together;  indeed,  sf 
highly  did  he  esteem  it,  that  he  had  it  gallantly  enchascf* 

10  and  relieved  with  silver  devices,  which  caused  it  to  In 
related  in  divers  histories  and  legends,  that  he  wore  t 
silver  leg. 

Like  that  choleric  warrior,  Achilles,  he  was  somewliat 
subject  to  extempore  bursts  of  passion,  which  were  ofllii:  -^ 

15  rather  unpleasant  to  his  favorites  and  attendants,  wh*    *> 
^^         perceptions  he  was  apt  to  quicken,  after  the  manner  of  his 
illustrious  imitator,  Peter  the   Great,  by  anointing  their 
shoulders  with  his  walking-stafT. 

He  was,  in  fact,  the  very  reverse  of  his  predecessors, 

20  being  neither  tranquil  and  inert,  like  Walter,  the  Doubter, 
nor  restless  and  fidgeting,  like  William,  the  Testy;  but 
a  man,  or  rather  a  governor,  of  such  uncommon  activity 
and  decision  of  mind,  that  he  never  co\*ght  or  accepted  the 
advice  of  others;  depending  confidently  upon  his  single 

25  head,  as  did  the  heroes  of  yore  up:>n  their  single  arms,  to 
work  his  way  through  all  difficu^ir:^  and  dangers.  To 
tell  the  simple  truth,  he  wanted  no  other  requisite  for  a 
perfect  statesman,  than  to  thinlc  dlwoys  right,  for  no  one  cm 
deny,  that  he  always  acted  as  he  thought ;  and  if  he  wanted 

30  in  correctness,  he   made  up  for  it  in  perseverance, — nti 
excellent  quality !  since  it  \i  s'.irely  more  dignified  for  a 
ruler  to  be  persevering  and  consistent  in  error,  than  wa- 
vering and   contradictory,  in  endeavoring  to  do  what 
right.     This  much  is  certain,  and  it  is  a  maxim  won: 

35  the  attention  of  all  legislators,  both  great  and  small  who 
stand  shaking  in  the  wind,  without  knowing  which  wa  . 
to  steer, — a  ruler  who  acta  according;  to  his  own  will, 
sure  of  pleasing  himself,  while  he  who  seeks  to  satisfv 
the   wishes  and  whims  of  ot^cr^,  runs  a  great  risk  <*' 

40  pleasing  nobody.     The  clock  Iha:  star  ib  still,  and  poin'  s 
steadfastly  in  one  direction,  i?  ceitiin  o'*  being  right  iwi 
in  the   four-and-twenty  houir, —  while   o*.hers   may   kc  p 
going  continually,  and  contina  Jly  be  g:t>ing  wrong.  ■ 

Nor  did  this  magnanimous  virtue  csoijw  tho  dw«c«rrj 


I 


FART   II.]  READER    AN^    SPEAKER.  171 

ment  of  the  good  people  of  Nieuw-Ncderlandts  ;*  on  the 
contrary,  so  liifrh  an  opinion  had  they  of  the  independent 
mind  and  vigorous  intellect  of  their  new  governor,  that 
they  universally  called  him  Hardkopping Piet^^  ox  Peter  the 
5  Headstrong, — a  great  compliment  to  his  understanding ! 
if  from  all  that  I  have  said,  thou  dost  not  gather,  worthy 
reader,  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  a  tough,  sturdy,  valiant, 
weatherbeaten,  mettlesome,  obstinate,  leathern-sided,  lion- 
hearted,  generous-spirited  old  governor,  either  I  have  writ- 
^  1  ten  to  but  little  purpose,  or  thou  art  very  dull  at  drawing 
concmsions.  

LESSON    LXIV. ODE    ON    ART. CHARLES    SPRAGUE 

When,  from  the  sacred  garden  driven, 

Man  fled  before  his  Maker's  wn'ath, 
An  angel  left  her  place  in  heaven, 

And  crossed  the  wanderer's  sunless  path. 
5  *T  was  Art !  sweet  Art !  new  radiance  broke 

Where  her  light  foot  flew  o'er  the  ground ; 
And  thus  with  seraph  voice  she  spoke, — 

"  The  Curse  a  Blessing  shall  be  found." 

She  led  him  through  the  trackless  wild, 
10  Where  noontide  sunbeam  never  blazed ; 

The  thistle  shrunk,  the  harvest  smiled. 
And  Nature  gladdened,  as  she  gazed. 
Earth's  thousand  tribes  of  living  things, 
At  Art's  command,  to  him  are  given; 
15  The  village  grows,  the  city  springs, 

And  point  their  spires  of  faiih  to  heaven. 

He  rends  the  oak, — and  bids  it  ride, 
To  guard  the  shores  its  beauty  graced ; 

He  smites  the  rock, — upheaved  in  pride, 
20  See  towers  of  strenirth  and  domes  of  taste. 

Earth's  teeming  caves  their  wealth  reveal, 
Fire  bears  his  banner  on  the  wave, 

He  bids  the  mortal  poison  heal. 

And  leaps  triumphant  o'er  the  grave. 

25  He  plucks  the  pearls  that  stud  the  deep, 

Admiring  Beauty's  lap  to  fill ; 
He  breaks  the  stubborn  marble's  sleep. 
And  mocks  his  own  Creator's  skiii. 

*  Pronounced  New  Naydtrldnts,  f  Pronounced  Fui 


172  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  [PART    ^ 

With  ihou^lits  that  swell  his  glowing  soul, 

He  bids  the  ore  illume  ilie  page, 
And  proudly  scorning  Time's  control, 

Commerces  with  an  unborn  age. 

.  6  In  fields  of  air  he  \vrites  his  name, 

And  treads  the  chambers  of  the  sky ; 
He  reads  the  stars,  and  grasps  the  flame 

That  quivers  round  the  Throne  on  high. 
In  war  renowned,  in  peace  sublime, 
10  He  moves  in  greatness  and  in  grace ; 

His  power,  subduing  space  and  time, 
Lmks  realm  to  realm,  and  race  to  race. 


LESSON  LXV. ROBERT  BURNS. F.  G.  HALLECK 

The  memory  of  Burns, — a  name 

That  calls,  when  brimmed  her  festal  cup, 

A  nation's  glory,  and  her  shame, 
In  silent  sadness  up. 

5  A  nation's  glory, — be  the  rest 

Forgot, — she  's  canonized  his  mind ; 
And  it  is  joy  to  speak  the  best 
We  may  of  human  kind. 

I  Ve  stood  beside  the  cottage  bed 
10  Where  the  Bard-peasant  first  drew  breati 

A  straw-thatched  roof  above  his  head, 
A  straw-wrought  couch  beneath. 

And  I  have  stood  beside  the  pile. 
His  monument, — that  tells  to  heaven 
15  The  homage  of  earth's  proudest  isle 

To  that  Bard-peasant  given ! 

Bid  thy  thoughts  hover  o'er  that  spot, 

Boy-Minstrel,  in  thy  dreaming  hour; 
And  know,  however  low  his  lot, 
20  A  Poet's  pride  and  power. 

The  pride  that  lifted  Burns  from  earth, 
The  power  that  gave  a  child  of  song 

Ascendancy  o'er  rank  and  birth, 
The  rich,  the  brave,  the  strong; 

26  And  if  despondency  weigh  t^own 

Thy  spirit's  fluttering  pinions  then. 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  173 

Despair : — thy  name  is  written  on 
The  roll  of  common  men. 

There  have  been  loftier  themes  than  his, 
And  longer  scrolls,  and  louder  lyres, 
5  And  lays  lit  up  with  Poesy's 

Purer  and  holier  fires  : 

Yet  read  the  names  that  know  not  death ; 
Few  nobler  ones  than  Burns  are  there ; 
And  few  have  won  a  greener  wreath 
10  Than  that  which  binds  his  hair. 


His  is  that  language  of  the  heart,  / 

In  which  the  answering  heart  would  speak 

Thought,  word,  that  bids  the  warm  tear  start, 
Or  the  smile  light  the  cheek ; 

15  And  his  that  music,  to  whose  tone 

The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time, 
In  cot  or  castle's  mirth  or  moan, 
In  cold  or  sunny  clime. 

And  who  hath  heard  his  song,  nor  kneU 
20  Before  its  spell,  with  willing  knee, 

And  listen 'd,  and  believed,  and  felt 
The  Poet's  mastery  ? 

O'er  the  mind's  sea,  in  calm  and  storm. 
O'er  the  heart's  sunshine  and  its  showers 
25  O'er  Passion's  moments,  bright  and  warm, 

O'er  Reason's  dark,  cold  hours ; 

On  fields  where  brave  men  "  die  or  do," 

In  halls  where  rings  the  banquet's  mirth. 
Where  mourners  weep,  where  lovers  woo, 
30  From  throne  to  cottage  hearth ; 

What  sweet  tears  dim  the  eyes  unshed, 
What  wild  vows  falter  on  the  tongue. 

When  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled," 
Or  **  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  is  sung ! 

35  Pure  hopes,  that  lift  the  soul  above, 

Come  with  his  Cottar's  hymn  of  praise, 
And  dreams  of  youth,  and  truth,  and  love^ 
With  "  Logan's  "  banks  and  braes. 

And  when  he  breathes  his  master-lay 
ftO  Of  AUoway's  witch-haunted  wall. 


174  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCnOOfc  [PART 

All  passions  in  our  frames  of  clay 
Come  thronging  at  his  call. 

Imagination's  world  of  air, 

And  our  own  world,  its  gloom  and  glee, 
6  Wit,  pathos,  poetry,  are  there, 

And  death's  sublimity. 

And  Burns, — though  brief  the  race  he  ran, 

Though  rough  and  dark  the  path  he  trod,-^ 
Lived, — died, — in  form  and  soul  a  Man, 
10  The  imajre  of  his  God. 


LESSON  LXVI. THE    FUTURE    LIFE. W.  C.  BRYANT.      ^ 

Lines  addressed  to  a  deceased  Triend.  ^ 


I 


^1 


How  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 

The  disembodied  spirits  of  the  dead, 
When  all  of  thee  that  time  could  wither,  sleeps, 

And  perishes  among  the  dust  we  tread  ? 

5     For  I  shall  feel  the  sting  of  ceaseless  pain. 
If  there  I  meet  thy  gentle  presence  not ; 
Nor  hear  the  voice  I  love,  nor  read  again 
In  thy  serenest  eyes  the  tender  thought. 

Will  not  thy  own  meek  heart  demand  me  there  ? 
10         That  heart  whose  fondest  throbs  to  me  were  given  1     ^ 
My  name  on  earth  was  ever  in  thy  prayer,  m  S 

Shall  it  be  banished  from  thy  tongue  in  heaven  ? 

In  meadows  fanned  by  heaven's  life-breathing  wind 
In  the  resplendence  of  that  glorious  sphere, 
15     And  larger  movements  of  the  unfettered  mind. 
Wilt  thou  forget  the  love  that  joined  us  here  ? 

The  love  that  lived  through  all  the  stormy  past, 

And  meekly  with  my  harsher  nature  bore. 
And  deeper  grew,  and  tenderer  to  the  last, 
20         Shall  it  expire  with  life,  and  be  no  more  ? 

A  happier  lot  than  mine,  and  larger  light, 

Await  thee  there  ;  for  thou  hast  bowed  thy  wul 

In  cheerful  homage  to  the  rule  of  right, 
And  lovesi  all,  and  renderest  good  for  ill. 

26     For  me,  the  sordid  cares  in  which  I  dwell. 

Shrink  and  consume  the  heart,  as  heat  the  sci 


PAET  n.]  READER   AND  8PEAKER.  175 

And  wrath  hath  left  its  scar, — that  fire  of  hell 
Has  left  its  frightful  scar  upon  my  soul. 

Yet,  though  thou  wear'st  the  glory  of  the  sky, 
Wilt  thou  not  keep  the  same  beloved  name, 
6     The  same  fair  thoughtful  brow,  and  gentle  eye, 

Lovelier  in  heaven's  sweet  climate,  yet  the  same  ? 

Shalt  thou  not  teach  me,  in  that  calmer  home, 
The  wisdom  that  I  learned  so  ill  in  this, — 
The  wisdom  which  is  love, — till  I  become 
10         Thy  fit  companion  in  that  land  of  bliss  ? 


LESSON  LXVII. THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY. H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

There  is  a  quiet  spirit  iii  these  woods. 

That  dwells  where'er  the  south  wind  blows ; 

Where,  underneath  the  white  thorn  in  the  glade, 

The  wild  flowers  bloom,  or,  kissing  the  soft  air, 

The  leaves  above  their  sunny  palms  outspread. 

With  what  a  tender  and  empassion'd  voice 

It  fills  the  nice  and  delicate  ear  of  thought, 

vVhen  the  fast-ushering  star  of  morning  comes, 

O'er-riding  the  gray  hills  with  golden  scarf; 

Or  when  the  cowled  {ttid  dusky -sandaled  Eve, 

In  mourning  weeds,  from  out  the  western  gate, 

Departs  with  pilent  pace  !     That  spirit  moves 

In  the  green  >   lley,  where  the  silver  brook, 

From  its  full  lci\rer,  pours  the  w^hite  cascade; 

And,  babbling  low  amid  the  tangled  woods, 

Slips  down  th,i*ough  moss-grown  stones  with  endless  laughtei; 

And  frequent,  on  the  everlasting  hills. 

Its  feet  go  forth,  when  it  doth  wrap  itself 

In  all  the  dark  embroidery  of  the  storm. 

And  shouts  the  stern,  strong  wind.     And  here,  amid 

The  silent  majesty  of  these  deep  woods, 

Its  presence  shall  uplift  thy  thoughts  from  earth. 

As  to  the  sunshine,  and  the  pure  bright  air. 

Their  tops  the  green  trees  lift.     Hence  gifted  bards 

Have  ever  loved  the  calm  and  quiet  shades. 

For  them  there  was  an  eloquent  voice  in  all 

The  sylvan  pomp  of  woods,  the  golden  sun; 

The  flowers,  the  leaves,  the  river  on  its  way, 

Blue  skies,  and  silver  clouds,  and  gentle  winds; 

The  swelling  upland,  where  the  sidelong  sun 


178  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  U 

Aslant  the  wooded  slope  at  eveninc:  cfoes ; 
Groves,  through  who^fc  broken  roof  the  sky  looks  in ; 
Mountain,  and  shattered  clifl',  and  sunny  vale, 
The  distant  lake,  fountains,  and  mighty  trees, 
6   (n  many  a  lazy  syllable,  repeating 
Their  old  poetical  legends  to  the  wind. 

And  this  is  the  sweet  spirit  that  doth  fill 
The  world  ;  and,  in  these  wayward  days  of  youth, 
My  busy  fancy  oft  embodies  it,. 

l(j    /Vs  the  bright  image  of  the  light  and  beauty 
That  dwell  in  nature,  of  the  heavenly  forms 
We  worship  in  our  dreams,  and  the  soft  hues 
That  stain  the  wild  bird's  wing,  and  flush  the  clouds 
WTien  the  sun  sets.     Within  her  eye 

15    The  heaven  of  April,  with  its  changing  light, 
\nd  when  it  wears  the  blue  of  May,  is  hung, 
And  on  her  lip  the  rich  red  rose.     Her  hair 
[s  like  the  summer  tresses  of  the  trees. 
When  twilight  makes  them  brown,  and  on  her  cheek 

20  Blushes  the  richness  of  an  autumn  sky. 

With  ever-shifting  beauty.     Then  her  breath, 
It  is  so  like  the  gentle  air  of  Spring, 
As,  from  the  morning's  dewy  flowers,  it  comes 
Full  of  their  fragrance,  that  it  is  a  joy 

25  To  have  it  round  us,  and  her  silver  voice 
Is  the  rich  music  of  a  summer  bird. 
Heard  in  the  still  night,  with  its  passionate  cadence. 


LESSON   LXVIIL — THE    SOLDIER's   WIDOW. ^N.  P.  WILLIS. 

Woe  !  for  my  vine-clad  home  ! 
That  it  should  ever  be  so  dark  to  me, 
With  its  bright  threshold,  and  its  whispering 

That  I  should  ever  come, 
6         Fearing  the  lonely  echo  of  a  tread. 

Beneath  the  roof-tree  of  my  glorious  dead ! 

Lead  on  !  my  orphan  boy  ! 
Thy  home  is  not  so  desolate  to  thee, 
And  the  low  shiver  in  the  linden  tree 
10  May  bring  to  thee  a  joy  ; 

But,  oh  !  how  dark  is  the  bright  home  before 
To  her  who  with  a  joyous  spirit  bore  thee  ! 


FART   n]  READER   AlfD   srEAkER.  177 

Lead  on  !  for  thou  art  now 
My  sole  remaining  helper.     God  hath  spoken, 
And  the  strong  heart  1  leaned  upon  is  broken* 
And  I  have  seen  his  brow, 
5         The  forehead  of  my  upright  one,  and  just. 
Trod  by  the  hoof  of  battle  to  the  dust. 

He  will  not  meet  thee  there 
Who  blessed  thee  at  the  eventide,  my  son  ! 
And  when  the  shadows  of  the  night  steal  on, 
10  He  will  not  call  to  prayer. 

The  lips  that  melted,  giving  thee  to  God, 
Are  in  the  icy  keeping  of  the  sod ! 

Ay,  my  own  boy  !  thy  sire 
Is  with  the  sleepers  of  the  valley  cast, 
15         And  the  proud  glory  of  my  life  hath  past, 

With  his  high  glance  of  fire. 
Woe  !  that  the  linden  and  the  vine  should  bloom, 
And  a  just  man  be  gathered  to  the  tomb  I 


LESSON   LXIX. — THE    SICILIAN    VESPERS. ^J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Silence  o'er  sea  and  earth 

With  the  veil  of  evening  fell, 
Till  the  convent  tower  sent  deeply  forth 

The'chime  of  its  vesper-bell."^ 
6         One  moment,  and  that  solemn  sound 

Fell  heavily  on  the  ear ; 
But  a  sterner  echo  passed  around, 

Which  the  boldest  shook  to  hear. 

The  startled  monks  thronged  up, 
10  In  the  torchlight  cold  and  dim ; 

And  the  priest  let  fall  his  incense  cup. 

And  the  virgin  hushed  her  hymn  ; 
For  a  boding  clash,  and  a  clanging  tramp. 
And  a  summoning  voice  were  h«  ard, 
15         And  fretted  wall,  and  tombstone  da.  ip. 
To  the  fearful  echo  stirred. 

The  peasant  heard  the  sound, 
As  he  sat  beside  his  hearth ; 
And  the  song  and  the  dance  were  hushed  around, 
20  With  the  fireside  tale  of  mirth. 

♦  The  signal  adopted  by  the  Sicilians,  for  conuneacing  the  massacr* 
»f  their  French  conquerors. 


J 78  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  fpART    IS 

The  chiofiuiii  shook  in  liis  bannered  hall, 

As  the  sound  of  war  drew  nigh ; 
And  the  warder  shrank  from  the  castle  wall 

As  tlie  gleam  of  spears  went  by. 

6         Woe,  woe,  to  the  stranger  then, 

At  the  feast  and  flow  of  wine, 

In  the  red  array  of  mailed  men, 

Or  bowed  at  the  holy  shrine  ! 

For  the  wakened  pride  of  an  injured  land 

10  Had  burst  its  iron  ihrall ; 

From  the  plumed  chief  to  the  pilgrim  band ; 
Woe,  woe,  to  the  sons  of  Gaul ! 

Proud  beings  fell  that  hour, 

With  the  young  and  passing  fair  ; 
15         And  the  flame  went  up  from  dome  and  tower 
The  avenger's  arm  was  there  ! 
The  stranger  priest  at  the  altar  stood. 

And  clasped  his  beads  in  prayer, 
But  the  holy  shrine  grew  dim  with  blood, — 
20  The  avenger  found  him  there  ! 

Woe,  woe,  to  the  sons  of  Gaul, 

To  the  serf  and  mailed  lord  ! 
They  were  gathered  darkly,  one  and  all, 

To  the  harvest  of  the  sword  ; 
25         And  the  morning  sun,  Avilh  a  quiet  smile, 

Shone  out  o'er  hill  and  glen, 
On  ruined  temple  and  mouldering  pile, 

And  the  ghastly  forms  of  men. 

Ay,  the  sunshine  sweetly  smiled, 
30  As  its  early  glance  came  forth ; 

It  had  no  sympathy  with  the  wild 

And  terrible  things  of  earth  ; 
And  the  man  of  blood  that  day  might  read, 
In  a  langf'age  freely  given, 
36         How  ill  his  lark  and  midnight  deed 
Became  ^ae  light  of  heaven. 


LESSON   LXX. — MEXICAN    MYTHOLOGY. — WM.  H.  PRESCOTT. 

The  Aztecs,  or  ancient  Mexicans,  had  no  adequate  con- 
ception of  the  true  God.  The  idea  of  unity, — of  a  being, 
with  whom  volition  is  action,  who  has  no  need  of  inferior 


PART    .U]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  179 

ministers  to  execute  his  purposes, — was  loo  simple,  or  too 
vast,  for  their  understandings  ;  and  they  sought  relief,  as 
usual,  in  a  plurality  of  deities,  who  presided  over  the  ele- 
ments, the  changes  of  the  seasons,  and  the  various  occu- 
5  pations  o-f  man.  Of  these,  there  were  thirteen  principal 
deities,  and  more  than  two  hundred  inferior ;  to  each  of 
whom  some  special  day,  or  appropriate  festival,  was  con- 
secrated. 

At  the  head  of  all  stood  the  terrible  Mexican  Mars  ;* 

10  although  it  is  doing  injustice  to  the  heroic  war-god  of  an- 
tiquity, to  identify  him  with  this  sanguinary  monster. 
This  was  the  patron  deity  of  the  nation.  His  fantastic 
image  was  loaded  with  costly  ornaments.  His  temples 
were  the  most  stately  and  august  of  the  public  edifices  ; 

15  and  his  altars  reeked  with  the  blood  of  human  hecatombs, 
in  every  city  of  the  empire.  Disastrous,  indeed,  must 
have  been  the  influence  of  such  a  superstition  on  the 
character  of  the  people. 

A  far  more  interesting  personage   in  their  mythol'^gy 

20  was  the  godt  of  the  air,  a  divinity  who,  during  his  resi- 
dence on  earth,  instructed  the  natives  in  the  use  of  metals, 
in  agriculture,  and  in  the  arts  of  government.  He  was 
one  of  those  benefactors  of  their  species,  doubtless,  who 
have  been  deified  by  the  gratitude  of  posterity.     Under 

25  him,  the  earth  teemed  with  fruits  and  flowers,  without  the 
pains  of  culture.  An  ear  of  Indian  corn  was  as  much  as 
a  single  man  could  carry.  The  cotton,  as  it  grew,  took, 
of  its  own  accord,  the  rich  dyes  of  human  art.  The  air 
was    filled    with    intoxicating   perfumes,   and    the    sweet 

30  melody  of  birds.  In  short,  these  were  the  halcyon  days, 
which  find  a  place  in  the  mythic  systems  of  so  many  na- 
tions of  the  Old  World.  It  was  the  goldai  age  of 
Anahuac. 

From  some  cause,  not  explained,  this  god  incurred  the 

35  wrath  of  one  of  the  principal  gods,  and  was  compelled  to 
abandon  the  country.  On  his  way,  he  stopped  at  the  city 
of  Cholula,  where  a  temple  was  dedicated  to  his  worship, 
the  massy  ruins  of  which  still  form  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting relics  of  antiquity  in  Mexico.     When  he  reached 

40  the  shores  of  the- Mexican  Gulf,  he  took  leave  of  his  fol- 
lowers, promising,  that  he  and  his  descendants  would  re- 
visit them  hereafter,  and  then,  entering  his  wizard  skifT, 

*  Huitzilopotchh  t  Quetzalcoatl. 


180  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U, 

made  of  serpents*  skins,  embarked  on  the  prrcat  ocean  for 
the  fabled  land  of  Tlapallan.  He  was  said  to  have  been 
tall  in  stature,  with  a  white  skin,  lonsf,  dark  hair,  and  a 
flowing  beard.  The  Mexicans  looked  confidently  to  the 
6  return  of  the  benevolent  deity ;  and  this  remarkable  tra- 
dition, deeply  cherished  in  thoir  hearts,  prepared  the  way 
for  the  future  success  of  the  Spaniards. 


LESSON   LXXI. THE    TRUE    GREATNESS   OF   OUR    COUNTRY.— 

W.    H.    SEWARD. 

[From  a  Discourse  belore  a  Bcnevoleni  Society,  in  Baliimorc.] 

At  present,  we  behold  only  the  rising  of  our  sun  of 
empire — only  the  fair  seeds  and  beginnings  of  a  gre:it 
nation.  Whether  that  glowing  orb  shall  attain  to  a  mend- 
ii^n  height,  or  fall  suddenly  from  its  glorious  sphere — 
5  whether  those  prolific  seeds  shall  mature  into  autumnal 
ripeness,  or  shall  perish  yielding  no  harvest,  depends  on 
God's  will  and  providence.  But  God's  will  and  providei:  * 
operate  not  by  casualty  or  caprice,  but  by  fixed  and  reveal*  J 
laws.     If  we  would  secure  the  greatness  set  before  us,  ^vt' 

10  must  find  the  way  which  those  laws  indicate,  and  ki*<  p 
within  it.  That  way  is  new  and  all  untried.  We  departs  <  I 
early — we  departed  at  the  beginning — from  the  beaten 
track  of  national  ambition.     Our  lot  was  cast  in  an  '^ 

revolution — a  revolution  which  was  to  bring  all  n  I 

16  from  a  state  of  servitude  to  the  exercise  of  self-government 
— from  under  the  tyranny  of  physical  force  to  the  gentle 
sway  of  opinion,  from  under  subjection  to  matter  lo 
dominion  over  nature. 

It  was  ours  to  lead  the  way, — to  take  up  the  cross  (>i 

20  republicanism,  and  bear  it  before  the  nations,  to  fi<rht  its 
earliest  battles,  to  enjoy  jts  earliest  triumphs,  to  i'" 
its  purifying  and  elevating  virtues,  and  by  our  cour;;^v 
resolution,  our  moderation  and  our  magnanimity,  to  che(  r 
and  sustain  its  future  followers  through  the  baptism  of 

25  blood  and  the  martyrdom  of  fire.  A  mission  so  noble  an  i 
benevolent  demands  a  generous  and  self-denying  enth  i- 
siasm.  Our  greatness  is  to  be  won  by  beneficence  without 
ambition.  We  are  in  danger  of  loj'ing  that  holy  zeal. 
We  are  surrounded  by  temptations.    Our  dwellings  becono 

30  palaces,  and  our  villages  are  transformed,  as  if  by  magi  , 
into  CTcat  cities.  Fugitives  from  famine,  and  oppression, 
and  the  sword,  crowd  our  shores,  and  proclaim  to  us  thia 


PAP-»    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  18/ 

we  alone  are  free,  and  great,  and  happy  Our  empire 
enlarges.  The  continent  and  its  islands  seem  ready  to 
fall  within  our  grasp,  and  more  than  even  fahulous  wealth 
opens  under  our  feet.  No  public  virtue  can  withstand, 
6  none  ever  encountered,  such  seductions  as  these.  Our  own 
virtue  and  moderation  must  be  renewed  and  fortified,  under 
circumstances  so  new  and  peculiar. 

Where  shall  we  seek  the  influence  adequate  to  a  task  so 
arduous  as  this  ?    Shall  we  invoke  the  press  and  the  pulpit  ? 

10  They  only  reflect  the  actual  condition  of  the  public  morals, 
and  cannot  change  them.  Shall  we  resort  to  the  executive 
authority  ?  The  time  has  passed  when  it  could  compose 
and  modify  the  political  elements  around  it.  Shall  we  go 
to  the  senate  ?     Conspiracies,  seditions,  and  corruptions,  in 

15  all  free  countries,  have  begun  there.  Where,  then,  shall 
we  go  to  find  an  agency  that  can  uphold  and  renovate 
declining  public  virtue  ?  Where  should  we  go  but  there, 
where  all  republican  virtue  begins  and  must  end  ?  where 
the  Promethean  fire  is  ever  to  be  rekindled  until  it  shall 

20  finally  expire  ?  where  motives  are  firmed  and  passions 
disciplined  ?  To  the  domestic  fireside  and  humble  school, 
where  the  American  citizen  is  trained.  Instruct  him  there, 
that  it  will  not  be  enough  that  he  can  claim  for  his  country 
Lacedaemonian  heroism,  but  that  more  than  Spartan  valor 

25  and  more  than  Roman  magnificence  is  required  of  her. 
Go,  then,  ye  laborers  in  a  noble  cause ;  gather  the  young 
Catholic  and  the  young  Protestant  alike  into  the  nursery 
of  freedom ;  and  teach  them  there  that,  although  Religion 
has  many  and  different  shrines  on  which  may  be  made  the 

W  oflTering  of  a  '*  broken  spirit,"  which  God  will  not  despise ; 
yet  that  their  country  has  appointed  only  one  altar  and 
one  sacrifice  for  all  her  sons,  and  that  ambition  and  avarice 
must  be  slain  on  that  altar,  for  it  is  consecrated  to  Humanity. 


LESSON    LXXU. ZENOBIA's    AMBITION. WILLIAM   WARE. 

I  am  charged  with  pride  and  ambition.  The  charge  is 
true,  and  I  glory  in  its  truth.  Who  ever  achieved  any 
thing  groat  in  letters,  arts,  or  arms,  who  was  not  ambi- 
tious ?  Cojsar  was  not  more  ambitious  than  Cicero.  It 
was  but  in  another  way.  All  greatness  is  born  of  ambi- 
tion. Let  the  ambition  be  a  noble  one,  and  who  shall 
blame  it  ?  I  confess  I  did  once  ajspire  to  be  queen,  not 
16 


182  AMERICi-N    COMiMON -SCHOOL  [PARl    IL 

only  of  Pa.myra,  but  of  the  Eaei.  That  I  am.  I  now 
aspire  to  remain  so.  Is  it  not  an  honorable  ambition  1 
Does  it  not  become  a  descendant  of  the  Ptolemies  and  of 
Cleopatra  ?  I  am  applauded  by  you  all  for  what  1  have 
6  already  done.  You  would  not  it  sho'»'d  have  been  less. 
But  why  pause  here  ?     Is  so  much  ambition  praiscwor- 

*  thy,  and  more  criminal  ?  Is  it  fixe/  in  nature  that  the 
limits  of  this  empire  should  be  Egypt,  on  the  one  hand, 
the  Hellespont  and  the  Euxine,  on  the  other?     Were  not 

10  Suez  and  Armenia  more  natural  limits?  Or  hath  empire 
no  natural  limit,  but  is  broad  as  the  genius  that  can  de- 
vise, and  the  power  that  can  w^in.  Rome  has  the  West. 
Let  Palmyra  possess  the  East.  Not  that  nature  prescribes 
this  and  no  more.     The  gods  prospering,  and  I  swear  not 

15  that  the  Mediterranean  shall  hem  me  in  upon  the  west,  or 
Persia  on  the  east  Longinus  is  right, — I  would  that  the 
world  were  mine.  I  feel,  within,  the  will  and  the  power 
to  bless  it,  were  it  so. 

Are  not  my  people  happy  ?     I  look  upon  the  past  and 

20  the  present,  upcyi  my  nearer  and  remoter  subjects,  nnd 
ask  nor  fear  the  answer.  Whom  have  I  wronged  ? — w  bat 
province  have  I  oppressed  ? — w^hat  city  pillaged  ? — what 
region  drained  with  taxes  ? — whose  life  have  I  unjustly 
taken,  or  estates  coveted  or  robbed  ? — whose  honor  have  I 

*^5  wantonly  assailed? — whose  rights,  though  of  the  wealvost 
and  poorest,  have  I  trenched  upon  ? — I  dwell,  wher*'  I 
would  ever  dwell,  in  the  hearts  of  my  people.  It  is  wi  it- 
ten  in  your  faces,  that  I  reign  not  more  over  you  tlian 
within  you.     The  foundation  of  my  throne  is  not  more 

50  power,  than  love. 

Suppose  now,  my  ambition  add  another  province  to  our 
realm.  Is  it  an  evil?  The  kingdoms  already  bound  to 
us  by  the  joint  acts  of  ourself  and  the  late  royal  Odenatus, 
we  found  discordant  and  at  w^ar.     They  are  now  uniicd 

35  and  at  peace.  One  harmonious  whole  has  grown  out  of 
hostile  and  sundered  parts.  At  my  hands  they  receive  a 
common  justice  and  equal  benefits.  The  channels  of  their 
commerce  have  I  opened,  and  dug  them  deep  and  sure. 
Prosperity  and  plenty  are  in  all  their  borders.    Tlie  street! 

40  of  our  capital  bear  testimony  to  the  distant  and  varioui 
industry  which  here  seeks  its  market. 

This  is  no  vain  boasting; — receive  it  not  so, good  friends. 
It  is  but  truth.  He  who  traduces  himself,  sins  with  him 
who  (raduccs  another.     He  who  is  unjust  to  himself,  or 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  183 

less  than  just,  breaks  a  law,  as  well  as  he  who  hurts  his 
neighbor.  I  tell  you  what  I  am,  and  what  I  have  done, 
that  your  trust  for  the  future  may  not  rest  upon  ig^norant 
grounds.     IC  I  am  more  than  just  to  myself,  rebuke  me. 

5  If  1  have  overstepped  the  modesty  that  became  me,  I  am 
open  to  your  censure,  and  will  bear  it. 

Bui  1  have  spoken,  that  you  may  know  your  queen, — 
not  only  by  her  acts,  but  by  her  admitted  principles.  I 
tell  you  then  that  I  am  ambitious, — that  I  crave  dominion, 

0  and  while  I  live  will  reign.  Sprung  from  a  line  of  kings, 
a  throne  is  my  natural  seat.  1  love  it.  But  I  strive,  too, 
— you  can  bear  me  witness  that  I  do, — that  it  shall  bo, 
while  I  sit  upon  it,  an  honored,  unpolluted  seat.  If  I  can, 
I  will  hyng  a  yet  brighter  glory  around  it. 


LESSON   LXXIII. TRIALS  OF  THE    POET   AND  THE   SCHOLAR. 

GEO.  S.   HILLARD. 

In  a  highly  civilized  age,  the  poet  finds  himself  per- 
plexed with  contradictions  which  he  cannot  reconcile,  and 
anomalies  which  he  cannot  comprehend.  Coming  out 
from  the  soft  ideal  world,  in  which  he  has  dreamed  away 
5  his  youth,  he  is  constantly  repelled  by  some  iron  reality. 
The  aspect  of  life  to  him  seems  cold,  hard  and  prosaic. 
It  renews  the  legend  of  CEdipus  and  the  Sphinx.  With 
a  face  of  stone,  it  propounds  to  him  a  riddle,  which  he 
must  guess  or  be  devoured.     It  is  an  age  of  frightful  ex- 

10  tremes  of  social  condition ;  of  colossal  wealth  and  heart- 
crushing  poverty ;  of  courts  and  custom-houses ;  of  corn- 
laws  and  c^ame-laws  ;  of  man-traps  and  spring-guns. 

The  smoke  from  the  almshouse  and  the  jail,  blots  the 
pure  sky.     The  race  of  life  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  its  bat- 

15  tie  to  the  strong.  A  sensitive  conscience,  a  delicate  taste, 
the  gift  of  genius,  and  the  ornament  of  learning,  are  rather 
obstacles,  than  helps,  in  the  way  of  what  is  called  success. 
Men  are  turned  into  petrifactions  by  the  slow-dropping  in- 
fluences of  artificial  life.     The  heroic  virtues  of  the  elder 

20  age,  have  vanished  with  its  free  speech,  and  its  simple  man- 
ners. There  seems  to  be  no  pulse  of  hearty  life  in  any 
thing,  whether  it  be  good  or  bad.  Virtue  is  timid,  and 
vice  is  cunning.  Love  is  cold  and  calculating,  and  hatred 
masks  its  dagger  with  a  smile. 

25  In  this  world  of  hollow  forms  and  gilded  seeming,  the 
claims  of  the  poet  are  unheeded,  and  his  voice  unheard. 


184  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  TU 

The  g'lhs  which  he  proffers,  are  unvalued  by  those  who 
have  forgotten  the  dreams  of  their  youth,  and  wandered 
away  from  the  primal  light  of  their  being.  He  looks 
around  him;  and  the  mournful  fact  presses  itself  upon  his 
6  conviction,  that  there  is  no  cover  laid  for  him  at  Nature's 
table.  His  very  existence  seems  lo  him  a  mistake.  And 
now  begins  that  fiery  struggle  in  which  the  temper  of  his 
genius  is  to  be  tried,  and  which  moves  the  deepest  springs 
of  compassion  and  sympathy,  in  the  human  heart. 

10  Poetry  has  invented  nothing  more  pathetic,  history  has 
recorded  nothing  more  sad,  than  those  mournful  experi- 
ences which  are  so  often  the  lot  of  the  scholar  and  the 
man  of  genius.  The  dethronement  of  kings,  and  the  beg- 
gary of  nobles,  are  less  affecting  than  the  wrongs,  the  sor- 

15  rows,  the  long-protracted  trials,  the  forlorn  conditions  of 
great  and  gifted  minds;  nobles,  whose  patents  are  of  elder 
date  than  the  pyramids,  and  kings  by  the  anointment  of 
God*s  own  hand. 

What  tragedies  can  be  read,  in  the  history  of  literature, 

20  deeper  than  Macbeth,  more  moving  than  Lear?  Milton, 
old,  poor,  and  blind,  selling  Paradise  Lost  for  five  pounds ; 
Dryden  beaten  by  ruffians  at  the  prompting  of  a  worthless 
peer,  who,  in  Plato's  commonwealth,  would  have  been 
changing  the  poet's  plate  ;  Tasso,  a  creature  as  delicately 

25  moulded  as  if,  like  the  Peris,  he  had  fed  upon  nothing 
grosser  than  the  breath  of  flowers,  wearing  out  the  L'St 
years  of  his  life  in  the  gloom  of  a  dungeon  ;  Racine  hur- 
ried lo  his  grave  by  the  rebuke  of  a  heartless  king  ;  Chiit- 
terton,  at  midnight,  homeless  and  hungry,  bathing  the 

30  unpitying  stones  of  London  with  the  hot  tears  of  anguish 
and  despair;  Johnson,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six,  dining 
behind  a  screen  at  the  house  of  Cave,  because  he  was  too 
shabbily  dressed  to  appear  at  the  table  ;  Burns  taken  from 
the  plough,  which  he  had  "followed  in  glory  and  in  joy 

35  upon  the  mountain  side,"  to  gauge  ale-firkins,  and  watch 
for  contraband  tobacco. 


LESSON   LXXIV. — ^TUE    YANKEES. — SAMUEL   KETTKL. 

Yankee-land,  or  the  New  England  portion  of  the  United 
States,  does  not  make  a  great  figure  in  the  map  of  tlie 
American  Republic  ;  yet  the  traveller  who  lenves  it  out  of 
his  route,  can  tell  you  but  little  of  what  the  Americans  are. 

I 


PART  II.]  READKR  AND  SPEAKER.  185 

It  is  in  New  England  that  you  find  Jonathan  at  home 
In  the  other  states,  there  is  a  mixture,  greater  or  less,  of 
foreign  popuhition ;  but  in  New  England  the  population 
is  homogeneous  and  native, — the  emigrant  does  not  settle 
5  there, — the  country  is  too  full  of  people ;  while  the  more 
fertile  soil  of  the  west  holds  out  superior  attractions  to  the 
stranger.  It  is  no  lubber-land  ;  there  is  no  getting  half-a- 
dollar  a  day  for  sleeping,  in  Massachusetts  or  Vermont ; 
the  rocky  soil  and  rough  climate  of  this  region,  require 

10  thrift  and  industry  in  the  occupant.     In  the  west,  he  may 

scratch  the  ground,  throw  in  the  seed,  and  leave  the  rest 

to  nature  ;  but  here  his  toil  must  never  be  remitted  ;  and  as 

valor  comes  of  sherris,  so  doth  prosperity  come  of  industry. 

While  the  Yankees  are  themselves,  they  will  hold  their 

15  own,  let  politics  twist  about  as  they  will.  They  are  like 
cats,  throw  them  up  as  you  please,  they  will  come  down 
upon  their  feet.  Shut  their  industry  out  from  one  career, 
and  it  will  force  itself  into  another.  Dry  up  twenty 
sources   of  their  prosperity,  and   they  will  open  twenty 

JO  more.  They  have  a  perseverance  that  will  never  languish, 
while  any  thing  remains  to  be  tried ;  they  have  a  resolu- 
tion that  will  try  any  thing,  if  need  be ;  and  when  a  Yan- 
kee says  "  I  '11  try,!'  the  thing  is  done. 


LESSON    LXXV. CUSTOM    OF    WHITEWASHING. FRANCIS 

HOPKINSON."^ 

My  wish  is  to  give  you  some  account  of  the  people  of 
these  new  States  ;  but  I  am  far  from  being  qualified  for 
the  purpose,  having  as  yet  seen  little  more  than  the  cities 
of  New  Yor'i  and  Philadelphia.  I  have  discovered  but 
5  lew  national  singularities  among  them.  Their  customs 
and  manners  are  nearly  the  same  with  those  of  England, 
which  they  have  long  been  used  to  copy.  For,  previous 
to  the  revolution,  the  Americans  were  from  their  infancy 
taught  to  look  up  to  the  English,  as  patterns  of  perfection 
10  in  all  things.  I  have  observed,  however,  one  custom, 
which,  for  aught  I  know,  is  peculiar  to  this  country :  an 
account  of  it  will  serve  to  fill  up  the  remainder  of  this 
sheet,  and  may  afford  you  some  amusement. 

When  a  young  couple  are  about  to  enter  the  matrimo- 

♦  This  piece  has  been  incorrectly  ascribed  to  the  pen  of  Dr.  Frank- 
lin.   Ilopkinson  }X)ssessed  much  of  that  ease  and  humor,  which  have 
rendered  the  wr'.iin«:s  of  the  former  so  universally  admired. 
16=^ 


186  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

nial  slate,  a  never-failing  article  in  the  marriage  treaty,  is, 
that  the  lady  shall  have  and  enjoy  the  free  and  nnmolested 
exercise  of  the  rights  of  whiteivas.hingy  with  all  its  cere- 
monials, privileges,  and  appurtenances.  A  young  woman 
5  \v  '  "  "  <>  the  most  advantageous  connexion,  and  even 
I.      ,  ,  lie  warmest  wish  of  her  heart,  rather  than  re- 

sign the  invaluable  right.  You  would  wonder  what  this 
privilege  of  whitewashing  is  : — I  will  endeavor  to  give  you 
some  idea  of  the  ceremony,  as  I  have  seen  it  performed. 

10  There  is  no  season  of  the  year,  in  which  the  lady  may 
not  claim  her  privilege,  if  she  ple.ases  ;  but  the  latter  end 
of  May  is  most  generally  fixed  upon  for  the  purpose. 
The  attentive  husband  may  judge  by  certain  prognostics 
when  the  storm  is  nigh  at  hand.     When  the  lady  is  un- 

15  usually  fretful,  finds  fault  with  the  servants,  is  discon- 
tented with  the  children,  and  complains  much  of  the  filth- 
iness  of  every  thing  about  her, — these  are  signs  which 
ought  not  to  be  neglected ;  yet  they  are  not  decisive,  as 
they  sometimes  come  on,  and  go  off  again,  without  produ:- 

20  ing  any  further  efTeci.  Bu*  if  when  the  husband  rises  in 
the  morning,  he  should  observe  m  the  vard  a  wheelbarrow 
.with  a  quantity  of  lime  in  it,  or  should  see  certain  buckois 
with  lime  dissolved  in  water,  there  is  then  no  time  to  be 
lost ;  he  immediately  locks  up  the   apartment,  or  closet, 

25  where  his  papers  or  his  private  property  are  kept,  and, 
putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  betakes  himself  to  flight ; 
for  a  husband,  however  beloved,  becomes  a  perfect  nui- 
sance during  this  season  of  female  rage ;  his  authority  is 
superseded,  his  commission  is  suspended ;  and  the  very 

liO  scullion,  who  cleans  the  Masses  in  the  kitchen,  becomoj* 
of  more  consideration  and  Uii^ortance  than  he.  He  has 
nothing  for  it  but  to  oMicate,  anu  ^un  from  an  evil  which 
he  can  neither  prevent  u^x  mollify. 

The  husband  go.^e,  the  ceremony  begins.     The  walls 

35  are  in  e  few  miiutes  hi'-ipped  of  their  furniture  ;  painting:^, 
prints,  ai>d  i^oking-glas^f^s,  lie  m  a  huddled  heap,  about 
the  floors ,  the  -uruiins  are  *orn  from  the  testers,  the  beds 
crammed  in  o  th."*  wi."»dows  ;  chairs  and  tables,  bedsteads 
and  cradles  Ci-^wd  ♦he  yard;  and  the  garden  fence  bends 

40  beneath  the  we.ght  A  carpets,  blankets,  cloth  cloaks,  old 
coats,  and  raggea  breeches.  Here  may  be  seen  the  lum- 
ber of  the  kitchen,  forming  a  dark  and  confused  mass:  for 
the  foreground  of  the  picture,  gridirons  and  frying-pans, 
rusty  shovels  and  broken  toners,  spits  and  pots,  ai 


g-nans 


PART  II.]  READER  AND  SPEAKER.  187 

fractured  remains  of  rush-bottomed  chairb.  There,  a 
closet  has  disgorged  its  bowels,  cracked  tumblers,  broken 
wine-glasses,  phials  of  forgotten  physic,  papers  of  un- 
known powders,  seeds  and  dried  herbs,  handfuls  of  old 
5  corks,  tops  of  teapots  and  stoppers  of  departed  decanters ; 
— from  the  rag  hole  in  the  garret,  to  the  rat  hole  in  the 
cellar,  no  place  escapes  unrummaged.  It  would  seem  as 
if  the  day  of  general  doom  was  come,  and  the  utensils  of 
the  house  were  dragged  forth  to  judgment.  In  this  tem- 
10  pest,  the  words  of  Lear  naturally  present  themselves,  and 
might,  with  some  alteration,  be  made  strictly  applicable: 


Let  the  great  gods, 


That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  our  heads, 
Find  out  their  enemies  now.     Tremble,  thou  wretch, 
1»5  That  hast  within  thee  undivulged  crimes 

Unwhipp'd  of  Justice  !- 


-Close  pent-up  Guilt, 


Raise  your  concealing  continents,  and  ask 
These  dreadful  summoners  grace  !" 


LESSON    LXXVI. SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED. ID. 

This  ceremony  completed,  and  the  house  thoroughly 
evacuated,  the  next  operation  is  to  smear  the  walls  and 
the  ceilings  of  every  room  and  closet,  with  brushes  dipped 
in  a  solution  of  lime,  called  whiteicash  ;  to  pour  buckets 
5  of  water  over  every  floor,  and  scratch  all  the  partitions 
and  wainscots  with  rough  brushes,  w^et  with  soap-suds, 
and  dipped  in  stone-cutter's  sand.  The  windows  by  no 
means  escape  the  general  deluge.  A  servant  scrambles 
out  upon  the  pent-house,  at  the  risk  of  her  neck,  and,  with 

10  a  mug  in  her  hand,  and  a  bucket  within  reach,  she  dashes 

away    innumerable    gallons  of  water   against   the    glas? 

panes,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  passengers  in  the  street 

I  have  been  told,  that  an  action  at  law  was  once  brought 

against  one  of  these  water-nymphs,  by  a  person  who  ha0 

15  a  new  suit  of  clothes  spoiled  by  this  operation  ;  but,  aftei 
a  long  argument,  it  was  determined  by  the  whole  court 
that  the  action  would  not  lie,  inasmuch  as  the  defendanv 
was  in  the  exercise  of  a  legal  right,  and  not  answerable  foi 
the  consequences  ;  and  so  the  poor  gentleman  was  doubly 

20  nonsuited ;  for  he  lost  not  only  his  suit  of  clothes  but  his 
suit  at  law. 

These  smearings  and  scratchings,  washings  and  dash- 
ings,  being  duly   performed,  the   next   ceremony   is   to 


.^ 


ISS  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U. 

cleanse  and  replace  the  distracted  furniture.  You  may 
liavo  seen  a  hourc-raising,  or  a  ship-launch,  wlien  all  the 
liaiiils  within  reach  arc  collected  together  ;  recollect,  it 
you  can,  tJie  hurry,  bustle,  confusion,  and  noise  of  such  a 

.6  scene,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  this  cleaning  match. 
The  misfortune  is,  that  the  sole  object  is  to  make  things 
clean  ;  it  matters  not  ho'v  many  useful,  ornamental,  or 
valuable  articles  are  nmtilated,  or  sutfer  death  under  the 
operation  ;  a  mahogany  chair  and  carved  frame  undergo 

LO  the  same  discipline ;  they  are  to  be  made  clean,  at  all 
events  ;  but  their  preservation  is  not  worthy  of  attention. 
For  instance,  a  fine  large  engraving  is  laid  flat  upon  the 
floor  ;  smaller  prints  are  piled  upon  it,  and  the  superincum- 
bent weight  cracks  the  glasses  of  the  lower  tier  ;  but  iliis 

15  is  of  no  consequence.  A  valuable  picture  is  placed  lean- 
ing against  the  sharp  corner  of  a  table  ;  others  are  made 
to  lean  against  that,  until  the  pressure  of  the  whole  forces 
the  corner  of  the  table  through  the  canvass  of  the  fir.^t. 
The  frame  and  glass  of  a  fine  print  arc  to  be  cleaned ; 

20  the  spirit  and  oil  used  on  this  occasion,  are  suflered  to 
leak  through,  and  spoil  the  engraving  ;  no  matter, — if  the 
glass  is  clean,  and  the   frame  shine,  it  is  suflicient ;  the 
rest  is  not  worthy  of  consideration.     An  able  mathema 
tician  has  made  an  a'-curate  calculation,  founded  on  long 

25  experience,  and  has  discovered  that  the  losses  and  de- 
struction incident  to  two  whitewashings,  are  equal  to  one 
removal,  and  three  removals  equal  to  one  fire. 

The  cleaning  frolic  over,  matters  begin  to  resume  their 
pristine  appearance.     The  storm  abates,  and  all  would  be 

30  well  again ;  but  it  is  impossible  that  so  great  a  convulsion, 
in  so  small  a  community,  should  not  produce  som.e  further 
effects.  For  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  operation,  the 
family  are  usually  afilicted  with  sore  throats  or  sore  eyes, 
occasioned  by  the  caustic  quality  of  the  lime,  or  with  S(^- 

35  vere  colds,  from  the  exhalations  of  wet  floors  or  damp 
walls. 


LESSON  LXXVII. SAME    SUBJECT   CONCLUDED. — ID. 

I  know  a  gentleman,  who  was  fond  of  accounting  for 

eveiy  thing  in  a  philosophical  way.     He  considers  this, 

which  I  have  called  a  custom,  as  a  real  periodical  diseas(^ 

j)eculiar  to  the  climate.     His  train  of  reasoning  is  inge- 

6  nious  and  whimsical;  but  I  am  i\ot  at  leisure  to  give  you 


I 


FART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  189 

the  detail.    The  result  was,  that  he  found  tiie  distemper  to 

be  incurable ;  but,  after  much  study,  he  con::eived  he  had 
discovered  a  method  to  divert  the  evil  he  could  not  sub- 
due. For  this  purpose,  lie  caused  a  small  building,  about 
6  twelve  feet  square,  to  be  erected  in  his  garden,  and  fur- 
nished with  some  ordinary  chairs  and  tables  ;  and  a  few 
prints,  of  the  cheapest  sort,  were  hung  against  the  walls. 
His  hope  was,  that,  when  the  whitewashing  frenzy  seized 
the  females  of  his  family,  they  might  repair  to  this  apart 

IC  ment,  and  scrub  and  smear  and  scour  to  their  hearts'  con 
tent ;  and   so  spend  the   violence  of  the  disease  in  this 
outpost,  while  he  enjoyed  himself  in  quiet  at  head-quar- 
ters.    But  the  experiment  did  not  answer  his  expectation  : 
it  was  impossible  it  should,  since  a  principal  part  of  the 

15  gratification  consists  in  the  lady's  having  an  uncontrolled 
right  to  torment  her  husband,  at  least  once  a  year,  and  to 
turn  him  out  of  doors,  and  take  the  reins  of  government 
into  her  own  hands. 

There  is  a  much  better  contrivance  than  this  of  the 

20  philosopher,  which  is,  to  cover  the  walls  of  the  house 
with  paper;  this  is  generally  done  ;  and,  though  it  cannot 
abolish,  it  at  least  shortens,  the  period  of  female  dominion. 
The  paper  is  decorated  with  flowers  of  various  fancies, 
and  made  so  ornamental,  that  the  women  have  admitted 

25  the  fashion  without  perceiving  the  design. 

There  is  also  another  alleviation  of  the  husband's  dis- 
tress :  he  generally  has  the  privilege  of  a  small  room  or 
rloset  for  his  books  and  papers,  the  key  of  which  he  is 
allowed  to  keep.    This  is  considered  as  a  privileged  place, 

30  and  stands  like  the  land  of  Goshen  amid  the  plagues  of 
Egypt.  But  then  he  must  be  extremely  cautious,  and 
ever  on  his  guard ;  for  should  he  inadvertently  go  abroad, 
and  leave  the  key  in  his  door,  the  housemaid,  who  is  al- 
ways on  the  watch  for  such  an  opportunity,  immediately 

35  enters  in  triumph,  with  buckets,  brooms,  and  brushes ;  takei 
possession  of  the  premises,  and  forthwith  puts  all  his  books 
and  papers  to  rightSy — to  his  utter  confusion,  and  some- 
times serious  detriment.     For  instance  : 

A  gentleman  was  sued  by  the  executors  of  a  tradesman, 

40  on  a  charge  found  airainst  him  in  the  deceased's  books, 
to  the  amount  of  thirty  pounds.  The  defendant  was 
strongly  impressed  with  the  idea,  that  he  had  discharged 
the  debt,  and  taken  a  receipt ;  but,  as  the  transaction  was 
of  long  standing,  he  knew  not  where  to  find  the  receipt. 


190  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

Tlio  suit  went  on  in  course,  an4  the  time  approached, 
wiion  judgment  would  be  obtained  against  him.  He  then 
sat  seriously  down  to  examine  a  large  bundle  of  old  pa- 
pers, which  he  had  untied,  and  displayed  on  a  table,  for 
5  that  purpose.  '  In  the  midst  of  his  search,  he  was  sudden- 
ly called  away  on  business  of  importance  ; — he  forgot  to 
lock  the  door  of  his  room.  Tiie  housemaid,  who  had 
been  long  looking  out  for  such  an  opportunity,  immedi- 
ately entered  with  the  usual  implements,  and,  with  great 

10  alacrity,  fell  to  cleani<ig  the  room,  and  putting  things  to 
rights.  The  first  object  that  struck  her  eye  was  the  con- 
fused situation  of  the  papers  on  the  table  ;  these  were 
without  delay  bundled  together,  as  so  many  dirty  knivps 
and  forks  ;  but  in  the  action,  a  small  piece  of  paper  fell 

15  unnoticed  on  the  floor,  which  happened  to  be  the  very  re- 
ceipt in  question ;  as  it  had  no  very  respectable  appear- 
ance, it  was  soon  after  swept  out  with  the  common  dirt  of 
the  room,  and  carried  in  the  rubbish-pan  into  the  yard. 
The  tradesman  had  neglected  to  enter  the  credit  in  his 

20  book;  the  defendant  could  find  nothing  to  obviate  the 
charge,  and  so  judgment  went  against  him  for  the  debt 
and  costs.  A  fortnight  after  the  whole  was  settled,  and 
the  money  paid,  one  of  the  children  found  the  receipt 
among  the  rubbish  in  the  yard. 

25  There  is  another  custom,  peculiar  to  the  city  of  Phila- 
delphia, and  nearly  allied  to  the  former.  I  mean,  that  of 
washing  the  pavement  before  the  doors,  every  Saturday 
evening.  I,  at  first,  took  this  to  be  a  regulation  of  the 
police  ;  but,  on  further  inquiry,  find  it  is  a  religious  rit  \ 

30  preparatory  to  the  Sabbath  ;  and  is,  I  believe,  the  only  re- 
ligious rite,  in  which  the  numerous  sectaries  of  this  ciiy 
perfectly  agree.  The  ceremony  begins  about  sunset,  and 
continues  till  about  ten  or  eleven  at  night.  It  is  very  dif- 
ficult for  a  stranger  to  walk  the  streets  on  those  evenings  ; 

35  he  runs  a  continual  risk  of  having  a  bucket  of  dirty  watof 
thrown  against  his  legs;  but  a  Philadelphian  born  is  .  > 
much  accustomed  to  the  danger,  that  he  avoids  it  wiili 
surprising  dexterity.  It  is  from  this  circumstance  that  a 
Philadelphian  may  be  known  anywhere  by  his  gait.     T\\<*. 

40  streets  of  New  York  are  paved  with  rough  stones  ;  the.-i; 
indeed  are  not  washed  ;  but  the  dirt  is  so  thoroughly  swept 
from  before  the  doors,  that  the  stones  stand  up  sharp  and 
prominent,  to  the  great  inconvenience  of  those  who  are 
not  accustonr.ed  to  so  rough  a  path.     But  habit  reconciles 


rART   II.]  HEADER    AND    SPEAKER.  191 

every  thing.  It  is  diverting  enough  to  see  a  Philadel- 
phiiin  at  New  York  ;  he  walks  the  streets  with  as  much 
painful  caution  as  if  his  toes  were  covered  with  corns,  or 
his  feet  lamed  with  the  gout;  while  a  New  Yorker,  a* 
6  little  approving  the  plain  masonry  of  Philadelphia,  shuf- 
fles along  the  pavement,  like  a  parrot  on  a*  mahogany 
table. 

It  must  be   acknowledged,   that  the  ablutions   1   have 
mentioned,  are  attended  with  no  small  inconvenience  ;  but 

10  the  women  would  not  be  induced,  on  any  consideration, 
to  resign  their  privilege.  Notwithstanding  this,  I  can 
give  you  the  strongest  assurances  that  the  women  of 
America  make  the  most  faithful  wives,  and  the  most  atten- 
tive mothers,  in  the  world ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  jom 

15  me  in  opinion,  that,  if  a  married  man  is  made  miserable 
only  one  week  in  a  whole  year,  he  will  have  no  gri  al 
cause  to  complain  of  the  matrimonial  bond. 


LESSON  LXXVIIl. — THE    FORCE    OF    CURIOSITY. CHARLES 

SPRAGUE. 

How  swells  my  theme  !  how  vain  my  power  I  find 
To  track  the  windings  of  the  curious  mind  ! 
Let  aught  be  hid,  though  useless,  nothing  boots, 
Straightway  it  must  be  pluck'd  up  by  the  roots. 

5       How  oft  we  lay  the  volume  down  to  ask 
Of  him,  the  victim  in  the  Iron  Mask; 
The  crusted  medal  rub  with  p;\inful  care, 
To  spell  the  legend  out, — that  is  not  there ; 
Willi  dubious  gaze  o'er  mossgrown  tombstones  bend 

10     To  find  a  name — the  herald  never  penned ; 
Dig  through  the  lava-deluged  city's  breast, 
Learn  all  we  can,  and  wisely  guess  the  rest : 
Ancient  or  modern,  sacred  or  profane. 
All  must  be  known,  and  all  obscure  made  plain; 

15     If  't  was  a  pippin  tempted  Eve  to  sin, 

If  glorious  Byron  drugc^ed  his  muse  with  gin; 
If  Troy  e'er  stood,  if  Shakspeare  stole  a  deer, 
If  Israel's  missing  tribes  found  refuge  here ; 
If  like  a  villain  Captain  Henry  lied, 

20     If  like  a  martyr  Captain  Morgan  died. 
Its  aim  oft  idle,  lovely  in  its  end. 
We  turn  to  look,  then  linger  to  befriend , 


1952  AICBRICAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  [PAET  IL 

The  maid  of  Egrypt  thus  was  led  to  save 

A  nation's  future  leader  from  the  wave  ; 

New  things  to  hear  when  erst  the  Gentiles  ran, 

Truth  closed  what  Curiosity  bec^an. 
5     How  many  a  noble  art,  now  widely  kno^^^l, 

Owes  its  young  impulse  to  this  power  alone ; 

Even  in  its  slightest  working  we  may  trace 

A  deed  that  changed  the  fortunes  of  a  race ; 

Bruce,  banned  and  hunted  on  his  native  soil, 
10     With  curious  eye  surveyed  a  spider's  toil ; 

Six  times  the  little  climber  strove  and  failed ; 

Six  times  the  chief  before  his  foes  had  quailed ; 

"  Once  more,"  he  cried,  "  in  thine  my  doom  I  read, 

Once  more  I  dare  the  fight  if  thou  succeed ;" 
15     'T  was  done  :  the  insect's  fate  he  made  his  own  : 

Once  more  the  battle  waged,  and  gained  a  throne. 
Behold  the  sick  man  in  his  easy  chair ; 

Barred  from  the  busy  crowd  and  bracing  air, 

How  every  passing  trifle  proves  its  power  

20     To  while  away  the  long,  dull,  lazy  hour !  ^^H   ■ 

As  down  the  pane  the  rival  rain-drops  chase,       ^» 

Curious  he  '11  watch  to  see  which  wins  the  race ; 

And  let  two  dogs  beneath  his  window  fight, 

He  '11  shut  his  Bible  to  enjoy  the  sight. 
25     So  with  each  newborn  nothing  rolls  the  day, 

Till  some  kind  neighbor  stumbling  in  his  way, 

Draws  up  his  chair,  the  sufferer  to  amuse, 

And  makes  him  happy,  while  he  tells — The  News. 
The  News  !  our  morning,  noon,  and  evening  cry  ; 
30     Day  unto  day  repeats  it  till  we  die. 

For  this  the  cit,  the  critic,  and  the  fop, 

Dally  the  hour  away  in  Tonsor's  shop; 

For  this  the  gossip  takes  her  daily  route. 

And  wears  your  threshold  and  your  patience  out ; 
it*     For  this  we  leave  the  parson  in  the  lurch, 

And  pause  to  prattle  on  the  way  to  church ; 

Even  when  some  cofRned  friend  we  gather  round, 

We  ask,  "  What  news  ?" — then  lay  him  in  the  grcund  , 

To  this  the  breakfast  owes  its  sweetest  zest, 
40     For  this  the  dinner  cools,  the  bed  remains  unprcssed. 


M 


i 


PART  II. J                          READER    AND    SPEAKER.  193 

LESSON    LXXIX. THE    WINDS. W.  C.  BRYANT. 

Ye  winds,  ye  unseen  currents  of  the  air, 
Softly  ye  played  a  few  brief  hours  ago  ; 

Ye  bore  the  murmuring  bee ;  ye  tossed  the  hair 
O'er  maiden  cheeks,  that  took  a  fresher  glow ; 
5     Ye  rolled  the  round  white  cloud  through  depths  of  blue  ; 

Ye  shook  from  shaded  flowers  the  lingering  dew ; 

Before  you  the  catalpa's  blossoms  flew, 

Light  blossoms,  dropping  on  the  grass  like  snow. 

How  are  ye  changed  !     Ye  take  the  cataract's  sound ; 
10         Ye  take  the  whirlpool's  fury  and  its  might; 
The  mountain  shudders  as  ye  sweep  the  ground ; 
The  valley  woods  lie  prone  beneath  your  flight. 
The  clouds  before  you  shoot  like  eagles  past ; 
The  homes  of  men  are  rocking  in  your  blast ; 
15     Ye  lift  the  roofs  like  autumn  leaves,  and  cast. 

Skyward,  the  whirling  fragments  out  of  sight. 

The  weary  fowls  of  heaven  make  wing  in  vain. 

To  scape  your  wrath ;  ye  seize  and  dash  them  dead. 

Against  the  earth  ye  drive  the  roaring  rain  ; 
20         The  harvest  field  becomes  a  river's  bed ; 

And  torrents  tumble  from  the  hills  around  ; 

Plains  turn  to  lakes,  and  villages  are  drowned ; 

And  wailing  voices,  midst  the  tempest's  sound. 
Rise,  as  the  rushing  waters  swell  and  spread. 

25     Ye  dart  upon  the  deep  ;  and  straight  is  heard 

A  wilder  roar ;  and  men  grow  pale,  and  pray : 
Ye  fling  its  floods  around  you,  as -a  bird 

Flings  o'er  his  shivering  plumes  the  fountain's  spray . 
See  !  to  the  breaking  mast  the  sailor  clings ; 
30     Ye  scoop  the  ocean  to  its  briny  springs. 

And  take  the  mountain  billow  on  your  wings, 
And  pile  the  wreck  of  navies  round  the  bay. 

Why  rage  ye  thus? — no  strife  for  liberty 

Has  made  you  mad ;  no  tyrant,  strong  through  fear, 
35     Has  chained  your  pinions  till  ye  wrenched  them  free, 
And  rushed  into  the  unmeasured  atmosphere : 
For  ye  wore  born  in  freedom  where  ye  blow ; 
Free  o'er  the  mighty  deep  to  come  and  go ; 
Earth's  solemn  woods  were  yours,  her  wastes  of  snow, 
40         Her  isles  where  summer  blossoms  all  the  year. 
17 


IM  AMERICAN    CX)MMON-SCHOOL  [PAET  IL 

O  ye  wild  winds  !  a  mightier  Power  than  yours 
In  chains  upon  the  shore  of  Europe  lies 

The  sceptred  throng,  whose  fetters  ne  enJures, 
Watch  his  mute  throws  with  terror  in  their  ey^ 

5  And  anned  warriors  all  around  him  stand, 
And,  as  he  struggles,  tighten  every  band, 

And  lift  the  heavy  spear,  with  threatening  hand; 
To  pierce  the  victim,  should  he  strive  lo  rise. 

Yet  oh  !  when  that  wronged  Spirit  of  our  rac%  ^ 

10         Shall  break,  as  soon  he  must,  his  long- worn  ohain« 
And  leap  in  freedom  from  his  prison-place. 

Lord  of  his  ancient  hills  and  fruitful  plains, 
Let  him  not  rise,  like  these  mad  winds  of  air. 
To  waste  the  loveliness  that  time  could  spare, 
'5     To  fill  the  earth  with  woe,  and  blot  her  fair 

Unconscious  breast  with  blood  from  human  veins 

But  may  he  like  the  Spring-time  come  abroad, 

Who  crumbles  winter's  gyves  with  gentle  might, 
When  in  the  genial  breeze,  the  breath  of  God, 
20         Come  spouting  up  the  unsealed  springs  to  light; 
Flowers  start  from  their  dark  prisons  at  his  feet. 
The  woods,  long  dumb,  awake  to  hymnings  sweet,    j 
And  morn  and  eve,  whose  glimmerings  almost  meeij| 
Crowd  back  to  narrow  bounds  the  ancient  night.     I 

LESSON  LXXX. — DAYBREAK. — RICHARD  H.  DAWA,  SEW. 

"The  Pilgrim  they  laid  in  a  large  upper  chamber,  whose  window 
opened  towards  the  sun  rising :  the  name  of  the  chamber  w^ 
Peace  ;  where  he  slept  till  break  of  day,  and  then  he  awoke  ani 
sang." — The  Pilgrim'' s  Progress, 

Now,  brighter  than  the  host  that  all  night  licig. 
In  fiery  armor,  up  the  heavens  high 
Stood  watch,  thou  comest  to  wait  the  morning's  song. 
Thou  comest  to  tell  me  day  again  is  nigh. 

6  Star  of  the  dawning,  cheerful  is  thine  eye ; 
And  yet  in  the  broad  day  it  must  grow  dim. 
Thou  seem'st  to  look  on  me,  as  asking  why 
My  mourning  eyes  with  silent  tears  do  swim  ; 
Thou  bid*st  me  turn  to  God,  and  seek  my  rest  in  Him. 

M    "Canst  thou  grow  sad,"  thou  say'st,  "as  earth  grows 
bright  ? 
And  sign,  when  little  birds  begin  discourse 


I 


^1 


rxAT   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  195 

In  quick,  k^r  voices,  ere  the  streaming  light 
Pours  on  their  nests,  as  sprung  from  day's  fresh  source ! 
With  creatures  innocent  thou  must  perforce 
A  sharer  be,  if  that  thine  heart  be  pure. 
5  And  holy  hour  like  this,  save  sharp  remorse, 
Of  ills  and  pains  of  life  must  be  the  cure. 
And  breathe  in  kindred  calm,  and  teach  thee  to  endure.^ 

I  feel  its  calm.     But  there  's  a  sombrous  hue 
Along  that  eastern  cloud  of  deep,  dull  red ; 

10  Nor  glitters  yet  the  cold  and  heavy  dew  ; 

And  all  the  woods  and  hilltops  stand  outspread 
With  dusky  lights,  which  warmth  nor  comfort  shed. 
Still, — save  the  bird  that  scarcely  lifts  its  song, — 
The  vast  world  seems  the  tomb  of  all  the  dead, — 

15  The  silent  city  emptied  of  its  throng, 


city 
[,  all 


And  ended,  all  alike,  grief,  mirth,  love,  hate,  and  wrong. 

But  wrong,  and  hate,  and  love,  and  grief,  and  mirth, 
Will  quicken  soon  ;  and  hard,  hot  toil  and  strife, 
With  headlong  purpose,  shake  this  sleeping  earth 

20  With  discord  strange,  and  all  that  man  calls  life. 
With  thousand  scattered  beauties  nature  's  rife. 
And  airs,  and  woods,  and  streams  breathe  harmonies ; 
Man  weds  not  these,  but  taketh  art  to  wife ; 
Nor  binds  his  heart  with  soft  and  kindly  ties : 

25  He  feverish,  blinded,  lives,  and,  feverish,  sated,  dies. 

And  *tis  because  man  useth  so  amiss 
Her  dearest  blessings,  Nature  seemeth  sad ; 
Else  why  should  she  in  such  fresh  hour  as  this 
Not  lift  the  veil,  in  revelation  glad, 
30  From  her  fiiir  face  ?     It  is  that  man  is  mad  ' 
Then  chide  me  not,  clear  star,  that  I  repine 
When  Nature  grieves  :   nor  deem  this  heart  is  bad. 
Thou  look'st  towards  earth ;  but  yet  the  heavens  are  thine. 
While  I  to  earth  am  bound :  When  will  the  heavens  be 
mine  ? 

85  If  man  would  but  his  finer  nature  learn, 
And  not  in  life  fantastic  lose  the  sense 
Of  simpler  things  ;  could  Nature's  features  stern 
Teach  him  be  thoughtful ;  then,  with  soul  intense, 
1  should  not  yearn  for  God  to  take  me  hence* 


nl 


196  AM&ftlCAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    ^ 

But  bear  my  lot,  albeit  in  spirit  bowed, 
Remembering  humbly  why  it  is,  and  whence: 
But  when  1  see  cold  man,  of  reason  proud, 
My  solitude  is  sad, — I  *m  lonely  in  the  crowd. 

6  But  not  for  this  alone,  the  silent  tear 

Steals  to  mine  eyes,  while  looking  on  the  mom, 
Nor  for  this  solemn  hour :  fresh  life  is  near ; 
But  all  my  joys  !  they  died  when  newly  born. 
Thousands  will  wake  to  joy  ;  while  I,  forlorn, 
10  And,  like  the  stricken  deer,  with  sickly  eye. 

Shall  see  them  pass.     Breathe  calm, — my  spirit 's  torn , 

Ye  holy  thoughts,  lift  up  my  soul  on  high  ! 

Ye  hopes  of  things  unseen,  the  far-off  world  bring  nigh  ! 

And  when  I  grieve,  oh !  rather  let  it  be 
15  That  I,  whom  Nature  taught  to  sit  with  her 

On  her  proud  mountains,  by  her  rolling  sea ; 

Who,  when  the  winds  are  up,  with  mighty  stir 

Of  woods  and  waters,  feel  the  quickening  spur 

To  my  strong  spirit ;  who,  as  mine  own  child, 
20  t)o  love  the  flower,  and  in  the  ragged  bur 

A  beauty  see ;  that  I  this  mother  mild 

Should  leave,  and  go  with  care,  and  passions  fierce  and 
wild! 


•^i 


How  suddenly  that  straight  and  glittering  shaft 

Shot  'thwart  the  earth  !     In  crown  of  Rving  fire 
25  Up  comes  the  Day  !     As  if  they  conscious  quaffed 

The  sunny  flood,  hill,  forest,  city,  spire 

Laugh  in  the  wakening  light.     Go,  vain  Desire ! 

The  dusky  lii^^hts  have  gone :  go  thou  thy  way ! 

And  pining  Discontent,  like  them,  expire ! 
30  Be  called  my  chamber.  Peace,  when  ends  the  day; 

And  let  me  with  the  dawn,  like  Pilgrim,  sing  and  pray 


?■ 


LESSON   LXXXI. — THE    LIGHT   OP   HOME. MRS.  8.  J.  HALl. 


\ 


My  boy,  thou  wilt  dream  the  world  is  fair, 

And  thy  spirit  will  sigh  to  roam. 
And  thou  must  go ; — but  never  when  there, 

Forget  the  light  of  home. 

Til  asure  may  smile  with  a  ray  more  ^rlght, 

li  -.—  .:...  to  lead  astray: 


n 


?A»T   II.]  READER   AND   SPB 

Like  the  meteor's  flash  *t  will  deepen 
When  ihou  treadest  the  lonely  way. 

But  the  hearth  of  home  has  a  constant  flame, 
And  pure  as  vestal  fire ; 
5         *T  will  burn,  \  will  bum,  forever  the  same. 
For  nature  feeds  the  pyre. 

The  sea  of  ambition  is  tempest  tost, 

And  thy  hopes  may  vanish  like  foam ; 
But  whe^^  sails  are  shivered  and  rudder  lost, 
10  Then  look  to  the  light  of  home. 

And  there,  like  a  star  through  the  midnight  cloud, 

Thou  shalt  see  the  beacon  bright, 
For  never,  till  shining  on  thy  shroud, 

Can  be  quenched  its  holy  light. 

15         The  sun  of  fame  H  will  gild  the  name. 
But  the  heart  ne'er  felt  its  ray ; 
And  fashion's  smiles,  that  rich  ones  claim, 
Are  but  beams  of  a  wintry  day. 

And  how  cold  and  dim  those  beams  must  be, 
20  Should  life's  wretched  wanderer  come  ! 

But  my  boy,  when  the  world  is  dark  to  thee, 
Then  turn  to  the  light  of  home. 


LESSON    LXXXII. A    PSALM    OF    LIFE. H.    W.    LONGFELLOW 

WHAT  THE  HEART  OF  THE  YOUNG  MAN  SAID  TO  THE  PSALMIST. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
"  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  ! " 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

5  Life  is  real !     Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest," 
Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul.  ^ 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 
10  Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting ; 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 
17* 


4^^ 


199  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART   n 

Still,  like  muflled  drums,  are  bcalingf 
Funeral  marches  to  the  ^^ravc. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 
In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
6  Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle  ! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife ! 

Trust  no  Future,  however  pleasant  i 
Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead ! 
Act, — act  in  the  livinof  Present !    . 
10  Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead  * 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footsteps  on  the  sands  of  time ; 

15  Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  ihen,  bo  up  and  doing, 
20  With  a  heart  for  any  fate ; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


LESSON   LXXXIII. — TO   THE    CONDOR. — E.  F.  ELLET. 

Wondrous,  majestic  bird  !  whose  mighty  wing 
Dwells  not  with  puny  warblers  of  the  spring ; — 

Nor  on  earth's  silent  breast, — 
Powerful  to  soar  in  strength  and  pride  on  high, 
5        And  sweep  the  azure  bosom  of  the  sky, — 

Chooses  its  place  of  rest. 

Proud  nursling  of  the  tempest,  where  repose 
Thy  pinions  at  the  daylight's  fading  close  ? 

In  what  far  clime  of  night 
10         Dost  thou  in  silence,  breathless  and  alone, — 

While  round  thee  swells  of  life  no  kindred  tone  - 

Suspend  thy  tireless  flight? 

The  mountain's  frozen  peak  is  lone  and  bare; 
No  foot  of  man  hath  ever  rested  there ; — 
^5  Yet 't  is  thy  sport  to  soar 


f 


i 


PART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  190 

Far  o'er  its  frowning  summit ; — and  the  plain 
Would  seek  to  win  thy  downward  wing  in  vain, 
Or  the  green  sea-beat  shore. 

The  limits  of  thy  course  no  daring  eye 
5         Has  marked ; — thy  glorious  path  of  light  on  high 
Is  trackless  and  unknown ; 
The  gorgeous  sun  thy  quenchless  gaze  may  shares 
Sole  tenant  of  his  boundless  realm  of  air, 
Thou  art,  with  him,  alone. 

10         Imperial  wanderer  I  the  storms  that  shake 

Earth's  towers,  and  bid  her  rooted  mountains  quake. 

Are  never  felt  by  thee  ! — 
Beyond  the  bolt, — beyond  the  lightning's  gleam, 
Basking  forever  in  the  unclouded  beam, — 

15  Thy  home  immensity  ! 

And  thus  the  soul,  with  upward  flight  like  thjne. 
May  track  the  realms  where  heaven's  own  glories  shine. 

And  scorn  the  tempest's  power ; — 
Yet  meaner  cares  oppress  its  drooping  wings ; 
20         Still  to  earth's  joys  the  sky-born  wanderer  clings, — 

Those  pageants  of  an  hour ! 


LXXXIV. A    CHILD   CARRIED    AWAY    BY   AN    EAGLE. 

Professor  Wilson. 

The  great  Golden  Eagle,  the  pride  and  the  pest  of  the 
parish,  stooped  down,  and  away  with  something  in  his 
talons.  One  single  sudden  female  shriek, — and  then  shouts 
and  outcries,  as  if  a  church  spire  had  tumbled  down  on  a 
5  congregation,  at  a  sacrament !  "  Hannah  Lamond's  bairn  ! 
Hannah  Lamond's  bairn ! "  was  the  loud  fast-spreading 
cry.  "  The  eagle  's  ta'en  afT  Hannah  Lamond's  bairn  ! " 
and  many  hundred  feet  were  in  another  instant  hurrying 
towards  the  mountain.     Two  miles,  of  hill,  and  dale,  and 

10  copse,  and  shingle,  and  many  intersecting  brooks,  lay  be- 
tween ;  but,  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  was  alive  with  people.  ^ 

The  eyrie  was  well  known,  and  both  old  birds  were 
visible  on  the  rock-ledge.     But  who  shall  scale  that  dizzy 

15  clifT,  which  Mark  Steuart,  the  sailor,  who  had  been  at  the 
storming  of  many  a  fort,  attempted  in  vain  ?  All  kept 
gazing,  weeping,  wringing  of  hands  in  vain,  rooted  to  the 
ground  or  running  back  and  forwards,  like  so  many  ants 


200  AMERICAN    COBOfON-SCHOOL  [PART  U. 

essaying  their  new  wings  in  discomfiture.  "What's  the 
use, — what 's  the  use, — o*  ony  puir  human  means  ?  We 
have  no  power  but  in  prayer!"  and  many  knelt  down, — 
fathers  and  mothers  thinking  of  their  own  babies, — as  if 
6  they  would  force  the  deaf  heavens  to  hear ! 

Hannah  Lamond  had  all  this  while  been  sitting  on  a 
rock,  with  a  face  perfectly  white, — and  eyes  like  those  of 
a  mad  person,  fixed  on  the  eyrie.  Nobody  had  noticed 
her;  for  strong  as  all  sympathies  with  her  had  been  at  the 

10  swoop  of  the  eagle,  they  were  now  swallowed  up  in  the 
agony  of  eyesight.  "  Only  last  Sabbath  was  my  sweet 
wee  wean  baptized,  in  the  name  o*  the  Father,  and  the 
Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost !"  and,  on  uttering  these  words, 
she  flew  off  through  the  brakes,  and  over  the  huge  stones, 

15  up — up— up — faster  than  ever  huntsman  ran  in  to  the 
death, — fearless  as  a  goat  playing  among  the  precipices. 

No  one  doubted,  no  one  could  doubt,  that  she  would 
soon  be  dashed  to  pieces.  But  have  not  people  who  walk 
in   their  sleep,  obedient  to  the  mysterious  guidance  of 

20  dreams,  climbed  the  walls  of  old  ruins,  and  found  footing, 
even  in  decrepitude,  along  the  edge  of  unguarded  battle- 
ments, and  down  dilapidated  stair-cases,  deep  as  draw- 
wells,  or  coal  pits,  and  returned  with  open,  fixed,  and 
unseeing  eyes,  unharmed  to  their  beds,  at  midnight  ?   It  is 

25  all  the  work  of  the  soul,  to  whom  the  body  is  a  slave ;  and 
shall  not  the  agony  of  a  mother's  passion, — who  sees  her 
baby,  whose  warm  mouth  had  just  left  her  breast,  hurried 
oflf  by  a  demon  to  a  hideous  death, — bear  her  limbs  aloft 
wherever  there  is  dust  to  dust,  till  she  reach  that  devour- 

30  ing  den,  and  fiercer  and  more  furious  far,  in  the  passion 
of  love,  than  any  bird  of  prey  that  ever  bathed  its  beak  in 
blood,  throttle  the  fiends  that  with  their  heavy  wings  would 
fain  flap  her  down  the  clifiTs,  and  hold  up  her  child,  in  de- 
liverance, before  the  eye  of  the  all-seeing  God ! 

35  No  stop, — no  stay, — she  knew  not  that  she  drew  hei 
breath,  neneath  her  feet  Providence  fastened  every  loose 
stone,  and  to  her  hands  sttengthened  every  root.  How 
was  she  ever  to  descend?  That  fear,  then, but  once  crossed 
her  heart,  as  up — up — up — to  the  little  image  made  of  ht  r 

40  own  flesh  and  blood.    **  The  God  who  holds  me  now  from 
perishing, — will  not  tie  same  God  save  me,  when  my  child 
IS  on  my  bosom?"     Down  came  the  fierce  rushing  of  the 
eagles*  wings, — each  savage  bird  dashing  close  to  her  head 
■O  that  she  saw  the  yellow  of  their  wrathful  eyes.     All  at 


PART   11.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  201 

once  they  quailed,  and  were  cowed.  Yelling,  they  flew 
off  to  the  stump  of  an  ash  jutting  out  of  the  clifi,  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  cataract;  and  the  Christian  mother  falling 
across  the  eyrie,  in  the  midst  of  b'ones  and  blood,  clasping 
5  her  child, — dead — dead — dead, — no  doubt, — butunmangled 
and  untorn,  and  swaddled  up,  just  as  it  was,  when  she  laid 
it  down  asleep,  among  the  fresh  hay,  in  a  nook  of  the  har- 
vest field. 

Oh !  what  a  pang  of  perfect  blessedness  transfixed  her 

10  heart  from  that  faint  feeble  cry  : — *'  It  lives — it  lives^ — it 
lives!"  and  baring  her  bosom,  with  loud  laughter,  and 
eyes  dry  as  stones,  she  felt  the  lips  of  the  unconscious  inno- 
cent once  more  murmuring,  at  the  fount  of  life  and  love! 
*'  0  Thou  great,  and  thou  dreadful  God  !  whjther  hast  thou 

15  brought  me, — one  of  the  most  sinful  of  thy  creatures  ?  Oh  ! 
save  my  soul,  lest  it  perish,  even  for  thy  own  name's 
sake !  0  Thou,  who  diedst  to  save  sinners,  have  mercy 
upon  me  I " 

Cliffs,  chasms,  blocks  of  stone,  and  the  skeletons  of  old 

20  trees, — far — far  down, — and  dwindled  into  specks,  a  thou- 
sand creatures  of  her  own  kind,  stationary,  or  running  to 
and  fro  !  Was  that  the  sound  of  the  waterfall,  or  the  faint 
roar  of  voices  ?  Is  that  her  native  strath  ? — and  that  tuf\ 
of  trees,  does  it  contain  the  hut  in  which  stands  the  cradle 

25  of  her  child  ?  Never  more  shall  it  be  rocked  by  her  foot ! 
Here  must  she  die, — and  when  her  breast  is  exhausted, 
her  baby  too !  And  those  horrid  beaks,  and  eyes,  and 
talons,  and  wings,  will  return ;  and  her  child  will  be  de- 
voured at  last,  even  within  the  dead  bosom  that  can  protect 

30  it  no  lonsfer. 


LESSON   LXXXV. SAME    SUBJECT    CONCLUDED. ID. 

Wliere  all  this  while  was  Mark  Steua-t,  the  sailor?  Half 
way  up  the  cliffs.  But  his  eye  had  got  dim,  and  his  head 
dizzy,  and  his  heart  sick  ; — and  he  who  had  so  often  reefed 
the  top-gallant  sail,  when  at  midnight  the  coming  of  the 
6  gale  was  heard  afar,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
dared  look  no  longer  on  the  swimming  heights. 

"  And  who  will  take  care  of  my  poor  bed-ridden  mother,* 

thought  Hannah,  whose  soul,  through  the  exhaustion  of 

so  many  passions,  could  no  more  retain,  in  its  grasp,  that 

10  hope  which  it  bad  clutched  in  despair.    A  voice  whispered, 

"  God  '  "    She  loolved  around,  exi>ecting  to  see  an  angel  *— 


20^1  AMBBICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

but  nothincT  moved,  except  a  rotten  branch,  that,  under  its 
own  weight,  broke  ofT  from  the  crumbling  rock.  Her  eye, 
— by  some  secret  sympathy  of  her  soul  with  the  inanimate 
object, — watched  its  IhII  ;  and  it  seemed  to  Swop,  not  for 
t  off,  on  a  small  platform. 

Her  child  was  bound  within  her  bosom, — she  remem- 
bered not  how  or  when, — but  it  was  safe  ; — and  scarcely 
daring  to  open  her  eyes,  she  slid  down  the  shelving  rocks, 
and  found  herself  on  a  small  piece  of  firm  root-bound  soil, 

10  with  the  tops  of  bushes  appearing  below.  With  fingers 
suddenly  strengthened  into  the  power  of  iron,  she  swung 
herself  down  by  brier,  and  broom,  and  heather,  and  dwarf- 
birch.  There,  a  loosened  stone  leapt  over  a  ledge ;  and  no 
sound  wasjieard,  so  profound  was  its  fall.     There,  the 

15  shingle  rattled  down  the  screes,  and  she  hesitated  not  to 
toUow.  Her  feet  bounded  against  the  huge  stone  that 
stopped  them,  but  she  felt  no  pain.  Her  body  was  callous 
as  the  clifT. 

Steep  as  the  wall  of  a  house,  was  now  the  side  of  the 

20  precipice.  But  it  was  matted  with  ivy  centuries  old, — long 
ago  dead,  and  without  a  single  green  leaf, — but  with  thou- 
sands of  arm-thick  stems,  petrified  into  the  rock,  and  cover- 
ing it,  as  with  a  trellis.  She  bound  her  baby  to  her  neck, 
and  with   hands  and    feet  clung  to  that   fearful   ladder. 

25  Turning  round  her  head  and  looking  down,  lo!  the  whole 
population  of  the  parish, — so  great  was  the  multitude,  on 
their  knees  !  and,  hush !  the  voice  of  psalms !  a  hymn 
breathing  the  spirit  of  one  united  prayer!  Sad  and  solemn 
was  the  strain, — but  nothing  dirge-like, — breathing  not  of 

30  death,  but  deliverance.  Often  had  she  sung  that  tune,  per- 
haps the  very  words,  but  them  she  heard  not, — in  her  own 
hut,  she  and  her  mother, — or  in  the  kirk,  along  with  all  the 
congregation.  An  unseen  hand  seemed  fastening  her 
fingers  to  the  ribs  of  ivy  ;  and,  in  suddjan  inspiration,  believ- 

35  ing  that  her  life  was  to  be  saved,  she  became  almost  as 

fearless,  as  if  she  had  been  changed  into  a  winged  creature. 

Again  her  feet  touched  stones  and  earth, — the  psalm 

was  hushed, — but  a  tremulous  sobbing  voice  was  close 

beside  her,  and  lo !  a  she-goat,  with  two  little  kids  at  her 

40  feet.  "  Wild  heights,"  thought  she,  "  do  these  creatures 
climb; — ^but  the  dam  will  lead  down  her  kid  by  the  easicsi 
paths,  for  oh !  even  in  the  brute  creatures,  what  is  the  holy 
power  of  a  mother's  love!"  and  turning  round  her  headf, 
she  kissed  her  sleeping  baby,  and  for  the  first  time  she 

45  wept. 


FART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  203 

Overhead  frowned  the  front  of  the  precipice,  never 
touched  before  by  human  hand  or  foot.  No  one  had  ever 
dreamt  of  scaling  it ;  and  the  golden  eagles  knew  that  well 
in  their  instinct,  as,  before  they  built  their  eyrie,  they  had 

6  brushed  it  with  their  wings.  But  all  the  rest  of  this  part 
of  the  mountain-side,  though  scarred,  and  seamed,  and 
chasmed,  was  yet  accessible  ; — and  more  than  one  person 
in  the  parish  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  Glead's  ClifT. 
Many  were   now   attempting  it, — and  ere   the   cautious 

10  mother  had  followed  her  dumb  guides  a  hundred  yards, 
though  am.ong  dangers,  that,  although  enough  to  terrify 
the  stoutest  heart,  were  traversed  by  her  without  a  shudder, 
the  head  of  one  man  appeared,  and  then  the  head  of  an- 
other ;  and  she  knew  that  God  had  delivered  her  and  her 

15  child,  in  safety,  into  the  care  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken, — eyes  said  enough, — she 
hushed  her  friends  with  her  hands, — and,  with  uplifted 
eyes,  pointed  to  the  guides  sent  to  her  by  Heaven.  Small 
green  plats,  where  those  creatures  nibble  the  wild-flowers, 

20  became  now  more  frequent, — trodden  lines,  almost  as  easy 
as  sheep-paths,  showed  that  the  dam  had  not  led  her 
young  into  danger ;  and  now  the  brush-wood  dwindled 
away  into  straggling  shrubs  ;  and  the  party  stood  on  a  little 
eminence  above  the  stream,  and  forming  part  of  the  strath. 

25  There  had  been  trouble  and  agitation,  much  sobbing, 
and  many  tears,  among  the  multitude,  while  the  mother 
was  scaling  the  clifTs  : — sublime  was  the  shout  that  echoed 
afar  the  moment  she  reached  the  eyrie ; — then  had  suc- 
ceeded a  silence  deep  as  death; — in  a  little  while  arose 

30  the  hymning  prayer,  succeeded  by  mute  supplication ; — 

the  wildness  of  thankful  and  congratulatory  joy  had  next 

its  sway  ; — and  now  that  her  salvation  was  sure,  the  great 

crowd  rustled  like  the  wind-swept  wood.     And,  for  whose 

•sake,  was  ail  this  alternation  of  agony?     A  poor,  humble 

35  creature,  unknown  to  many  even  by  name, — one  who  had 
but  few  friends,  nor  wished  for  more, — contented  to  work 
all  day,  here, — there, — any  where, — that  she  might  be 
able  to  support  her  aged  mother  and  her  little  child, — and 
who  on  Sabbath  took  her  seat  in  an  obscure  pew,  set  apart 

40  for  paupers,  in  the  kirk. 


204  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  n. 

LESSON    LXXXVI. — SCENE  AT  THE   DEDICATION  OF  A  HEATHEN 
TEMPLE. WILLIAM    WARE. 

As  we  drew  near  to  the  lofty  fabric,  I  thought  that  no 
scene  of  such  various  beauty  and  magnificence,  had  ever 
met  my  eye.  The  temple  itself  is  a  work  of  unrivalled 
art.  In  size,  it  surpasses  any  other  building  of  the  same 
6  kind  in  Rome,  and  for  the  excellence  of  workmanship,  and 
purity  of  design,  although  it  may  fall  below  the  standard 
of  Hadrian's  age,  yet  for  a  certain  air  of  grrxndeur,  and 
luxuriance  of  invention,  in  its  details,  and  lavish  profusion 
of  embellishment  in  gold  and  silver,  no  temple  nor  other 

10  edifice  of  any  preceding  age,  ever  perhaps  resembled  it. 

Its  order  is  Corinthian,  of  the  Roman  form,  and  the  en- 
tire building  is  surrounded  by  its  slender  columns,  each 
composed  of  a  single  piece  of  marble.  Upon  the  front  is 
wrought  Apollo  surrounded  by  the  Hours.     The  western 

15  extremity  is  approached  by  a  flight  of  steps,  of  the  same 
breadth  as  the  temple  itself.  At  the  eastern,  there  extends 
beyond  the  walls,  to  a  distance  equal  to  the  length  of  the 
building,  a  marble  platform,  upon  which  stands  the  altar 
of  sacrifice,  and  which  is  ascended  by  various  flights  of 

20  steps,  some  little  more  than  a  gently  rising  plain,  up  which 
the  beasts  are  led  that  are  destined  to  the  altar. 

When  this  vast  extent  of  wall  and  column,  of  the  mos^t 
dazzling  brightness,  came  into  view,  everywhere  covered, 
together  with  the  surrounding  temples,  palaces,  and  thca- 

25  tres,  with  a  dense  mass  of  human  beings,  of  all  climes  and 
regions,  dressed  out  in  their  richest  attire, — music,  from  in- 
numerable instruments,  filling  the  heavens  with  harmony, 
— shouts  of  the  proud  and  excited  populace,  every  few  mo- 
ments, and  from  different  points,  as  Aurelian  advanced, 

30  shaking  the  air  with  its  thrilling  din, — the  neighing  of 
horses,  the  frequent  blasts  of  the  trumpet, — the  wKole 
made  more  solemnly  imposing  by  the  vast  masses  of 
cloud,  which  swept  over  the  sky,  now  suddenly  unveilin:^ 
and  again  eclipsing,  the  sun,  the  great  god  of  this  idolatry, 

35  and  from  which  few  could  withdraw  their  gaze ;  when,  at 
once,  this  all  broke  upon  my  eye  and  ear,  I  was  like  r\ 
child  who  before  had  never  seen  aught  but  his  own  villag'*, 
and  his  own  rural  temple,  in  the  effect  wrought  upon  mr, 
and  the  passiveness  with  which  I  abandoned  myself  to  tlio 

40  sway  of  the  senses.  Not  one  there  was  more  ravished  by 
the  outward  circumstance  and  show.    I  thought  of  Rome'« 


PART    n.J  RFADER    AND    SPEAKER.  205 

thousand  years,  of  her  power,  her  greatness,  and  universal 
empire,  and,  for  a  moment,  my  step  was  not  less  proud  than 
that  of  Aurelian. 

But  after  that  moment, — when  the  senses  had  had  their 

5  fill,  when  the  eye  had  seen  the  glory,  and  the  ear  had  fed 
upon  the  harmony  and  the  praise,  then  I  thought  and  felt 
very  differenlly;  sorrow  and  compassion,  for  these  gay 
multitudes,  were  at  my  heart ;  prophetic  forebodings  of  dis- 
aster, danger,  and  ruin  to  those,  to  whose  sacred  cause  I 

10  had  linked  myself,  made  my  tongue  to  falter  in  its  speech, 
and  my  limbs  to  tremble.  I  thought  that  the  superstition, 
which  was  upheld  by  the  wealth  and  the  power,  whose  mani- 
festations were  before  me,  had  its  roots  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  earth, — far  too  deep  down,  for  a  few,  like  myself,  ever 

15  to  reach  them.  I  was  like  one  whose  last  hope  of  life  and 
escape,  is  suddenly  struck  away. 


LESSON   LXXXVII. SAME    SUBJECT    CONTINUED. ID. 

I  was  roused  from  these  meditations,  by  our  arrival  at 
the  eastern  front  of  the  temple.  Between  the  two  central 
columns,  on  a  throne  of  gold  and  ivory,  sat  the  emperor 
of  the  world,  surrounded  by  the  senate,  the  colleges  of  au- 
5  gurs  and  haruspices,  and  by  the  priests  of  the  various 
temples  of  the  capital,  all  in  their  peculiar  costume.  Then 
Fronto,  the  priest  of  the  temple,  when  the  crier  had  pro- 
claimed that  the  hour  of  worship  and  sacrifice  had  come, 
and  had  commanded  silence  to  be  observed, — standing  at 

10  the  altar,  glittering  in  his  white  and  golden  robes,  like  a 
messenger  of  light, — ^bared  his  head,  and  lifting  his  face 
up  toward  the  sun,  offered,  in  clear  and  sounding  tones,  the 
prayer  of  dedication. 

As  he  came  toward  the  close  of  his  prayer,  he,  as  is  so 

15  usual,  with  loud  and  almost  frantic  cries,  and  importunate 
repetition,  called  upon  the  god  to  hear  him,  and  then,  with 
appropriate  names  and  praises,  invoked  the  Father  of  gods 
and  men,  to  be  present  and  hear.  Just  as  he  had  thus 
solemnly  invoked  Jupiter  by  name,  and  was  about  to  call 

20  on  the  other  gods  in  the  same  manner,  the  clouds,  which 
had  been  deepening  and  darkening,  suddenly  obscured  the 
sun ;  a  distant  peal  of  thunder  rolled  along  the  heavens, 
and,  at  the  same  moment,  from  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
temple,  a  voice  of  preternatural  power  came  forth,  proclaim- 
18 


80f  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

ing,  SO  that  the  whole  multitude  heard,  the  words, — "  God 
is  but  one;  the  King  eternal,  imniorlal,  invisible  !" 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  horror  that  seized  those 
multitudes.  Many  cried  out  with  fear,  and  each  seemed 
6  to  shrink  behind  the  other.  Paleness  sat  upon  every  face. 
The  priest  paused,  as  if  struck  by  a  power  from  above. 
Even  the  brazen  Fronto  was  appalled.  Aurelian  leaped 
from  his  seat,  and  by  his  countenance,  white  and  awe- 
struck, showed  that  to  him  it  came,  as  a  voice  from  tlie 

10  gods.  He  spoke  not,  but  stood  gazing  at  the  dark 
entrance  into  the  temple,  from  which  the  sound  had  come. 
Fronto  hastily  approached  him,  and  whispering  but  one 
word,  as  it  were,  into  his  ear,  the  emperor  started  ;  the 
spell  that  bound  him,  was  dissolved  ;  and  recovering  him- 

15  self, — making,  indeed,  as  though  a  very  different  feeling 
had  possessed  him, — cried  out,  in  fierce  tones,  to  his  guards, 
"Search  the  temple!  some  miscreant,  hid  away  among 
the  columns,  profanes  thus  the  worship  and  the  place. 
Seize  him,  and  drag  him  forth  to  instant  death  ! " 

20  The  guards  of  the  emperor,  and  the  servants  of  the 
temple,  rushed  in  at  that  bidding.  They  soon  emerged, 
saying  that  the  search  was  fruitless.  The  temple,  in  all 
its  aisles  and  apartments,  was  empty. 


LESSON   LXXXVIIL SAME    SUBJECT   CONCLUDED. ID. 

The  heavens  were  again  obscured  by  thick  clouds,  which, 
accumulating  into  dark  masses,  began  now  nearer  and 
nearer  to  shoot  forth  lightning,  and  roll  their  thunders. 
The  priest  commenced  the  last  office,  prayer  to  the  god,  to 
5  whom  the  new  temple  had  been  thus  solemnly  conse- 
crated. He  again  bowed  his  head,  and  again  lifted  up 
his  voice.  But  no  sooner  had  he  invoked  the  god  of  the 
temple,  and  besought  his  ear,  than  again,  from  its  dark 
interior,  the  same  awful  sounds   issued  forth,  this  timo 

10  saying,  "  Thy  gods,  O  Rome,  are  false  and  lying  god:s ; 
God  is  but  one  ! " 

Aurelian,  pale  as  it  seemed  to  me  with  superstitious 
fear,  strove  to  shake  it  off,  giving  it,  artfully  and  with 
violence,  the  appearance  of  offended  dignity.     His  voice 

15  was  a  shriek,  rather  than  a  human  utterance,  as  it  cried 
out,  "This  is  but  a  Christian  device;  search  the  tempi**, 
till  the  accursed  Nazarinc  be  found,  and  hew  him  piec*- 
meal  I "    More  he  would  have  said ;  but,  at  the  instant, 


•ART  n.]  READER  AND  SPEAKER.  207 

a  bolt  of  lightning  shot  from  the  heavens,  and,  lighting 
upon  a  large  sycamore,  which  shaded  a  part  of  the  temple- 
court,  clove  it  in  twain.  The  swollen  cloud  at  the  same 
moment  burst,  and  a  deluge  of  rain  poured  upon  the  city, 
5  the  temple,  the  gazing  multitudes,  and  the  kindled  altars. 
The  sacred  fires  went  out,  in  hissing  darkness ;  a  tempest 
of  wind  whirled  the  limbs  of  the  slaughtered  victims  into 
the  air,  and  abroad  over  the  neighboring  streets.  All 
was  confusion,  uproar,  terror  and  dismay.     The  crowds 

10  sought  safety  in  the  houses  of  the  nearest  inhabitants,  and 
the  porches  of  the  palaces.  Aurelian  and  the  senators, 
and  those  nearest  him,  fled  to  the  interior  of  the  temple. 
The  heavens  blazed  with  the  quick  flashing  of  the  light- 
ning ;  and  the  temple  itself  seemed  to  rock  beneath  the 

15  voice  of  the  thunder.  I  never  knew  in  Rome  so  terrific  a 
tempest.  The  stoutest  trembled ;  for  life  hung  by  a  thread. 
Great  numbers,  it  has  now  been  found,  in  every  part  of 
the  capitol,  fell  a  prey  to  the  fiery  bolts.  The  capitol  itself 
was  struck,  and  the  brass  statue  of  Vespasian,  in  the  forum, 

20  thrown  down,  and  partly  melted.  Tlie  Tiber,  in  a  few 
hours,  overran  its  banks,  and  laid  much  of  the  city  and  its 
borders  under  water. 


LESSON    LXXXIX. — HAMILTON    AND    JAV. DR.  HAWKS. 

It  were,  indeed,  a  bold  task  to  venture  to  draw  into 
comparison  the  relative  merits  of  Jay  and  Hamilton,  on 
the  fame  and  fortunes  of  their  country, — a  bold  task, — and 
yet,  bold  as  it  is,  we  feel  impelled,  before  closing,  at  least 
5  to  venture  on  opening  it.  They  were  undoubtedly,  ''par 
iwhile  fratrum,^''  and  yet  not  twin  brothers, — ''pares  sed 
imparesj^* — like,  but  unlike.  In  patriotic  attachment  equfil, 
for  who  would  venture  therein  to  assign  to  either  the 
superiority ;    yet  was   that  attachment,  though   equal   in 

10  degree,  yet  far  different  in  kind :  with  Hamilton  it  was  a 
sentiment,  with  Jay  a  principle, — with  Hamilton  enthu- 
siastic passion,  with  Jay  duty  as  well  as  love, — with 
Hamilton  patriotism  was  the  paramount  law,  with  Jay  a 
law  " S7ih  gravinri  lege.^'^  Either  would  have  gone  through 

!5  fire  and  water  to  do  his  country  service,  and  laid  down 
freely  his  life  for  her  safety, — Hamilton  with  the  roused 
courage  of  a  lion, — Jay  with  th^  calm  fearlessness  of  a 
man ;  or  rather,  Hamilton's  courage  Would  have  been  that 

*  Under  a  weightier  law 


808  AMSRICAK   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   W 

of  ihe  soldier, — Jay*s  that  of  the  Christian.     Of  the  lat\ej 
it  might  be  truly  said, — 

"  Conscience  made  him  firm, 
That  boon  companion,  who  her  strong  breastplate 
O  Buckles  on  him  thai  Tears  no  guilt  within, 

And  bids  him  on,  and  fear  not.'' 

In  intellectual  power,  in  depth,  and  pfrasp,  and  versa- 
tility of  mind,  as  well  as  in  all  the  splendid  and  brilliant 
parts  which  captivate  and  adorn,  Hamilton  was  greatly, 

10  not  to  say  immeasurably,  Jay*s  superior.  In  the  calm  and 
deeper  wisdom  of  practical  duty, — in  the  government  of 
others,  and  still  more  in  the  government  of  himself, — in 
seeing  clearly  the  right,  amd  following  it  whithersoever  it 
led,  firmly,  patiently,  self-deniedly.  Jay  was  again  greatly, 

15  if  not  immeasurably,  Hamilton's  superior.  In  statesman- 
like talent,  Hamilton's  mind  had  in  it  more  of  *' construc- 
tive" power,  Jay*s  of  "  executive." — Hamilton  had  genius. 
Jay  had  wisdom.  We  would  have  taken  Hamilton  to 
plan  a  government,  and  Jay  to  carry  it  into  execution ; 

20  and,  in  a  court  of  law,  we  would  have  Hamilton  for  our 
advocate,  if  our  cause  were  generous,  and  Jay  for  judge, 
if  our  cause  were  just. 

The  fame  of  Hamilton,  like  his  parts,  we  deem  to  shine 
brighfer  and  farther  than  Jay's,  but  we  are  not  sure  that 

25  it  should  be  so,  or  rather  we  are  quite  sure  that  it  should 
not.  For,  when  we  come  to  examine  and  compare  their 
relative  course,  and  its  bearing  on  the  country  and  its 
fortunes,  the  reputation  of  Hamilton  we  find  to  go  as 
far  beyond  his  practical  share  in  it,  as  Jay*s  falls  short 

30  of  his.  Hamilton's  civil  official  life  was  a  brief  and 
single,  though  brilliant  one.  Jay's  nmnbered  the  years 
of  a  generation,  and  exhausted  every  department  of  diplo- 
matic, civil,  and  judicial  trust.  In  fidelity  to  their  counir}', 
both  were  pure  to  their  heart's  core ;  yet  was  Hamilton 

35  loved,  perhaps,  more  than  trusted,  and  Jay  trusted,  per- 
haps, more  than  loved. 

Such  were  they,  we  deem,  in  ditTering,  if  not  contrasted, 
points  of  character.  Their  lives,  too,  when  viewed  from 
a  distance,  stand  out  in  equally  striking,  but  much  moro 

40  painful,  contrast.  Jay's,  viewed  as  a  whole,  has  in  it  a 
completeness  of  parts,  such  as  a  nicer  critic  demands  foi 
the  perfection  of  an  epic  poem,  with  its  begitming  of 
promise,  its  heroic  middle,  and  itj*  peaceful  end.  and  par- 


PART   II-l  READEF    AND   SPEAKER.  20& 

taking^,  too,  somewhat  of  the  same  cold  stateliness, — noble, 
however,  still  and  glorious,  and  ever  pointing,  as  such 
poem  does,  to  the  stars, — "  Sic  itur  ad  astra.^^  The  life  of 
Hamilton,  on  the  other  hand,  broken  and  fragmentary, 
5  begun  in  the  darkness  of  romantic  interest,  running  on 
into  the  sympathy  of  all  high  passion,  and  at  length 
peaking  off  in  ihe  midst,  like  some  half-told  tale  of 
sorrow,  amid  tears  atid  blood,  even  as  does  the  theme  of 
the  tragic  poet.     The  name  of  Hamilton,  therefore,  was 

10  a  name  to  conjure  with, — that  of  Jay's  to  swear  by. 
Hamilton  had  his  fraihies,  arising  out  of  passion,  as  tragic 
heroes  have.  Jay's  name  was  faultless,  and  his  course 
passionless,  as  becomes  the  epic  leader,  and,  in  point  of 
fact  was,  while  living,  a  name  at  which  frailty  blushed, 

le5  and  corruption  trembled. 

If  we  ask  whence,  humanly  speaking,  came  such  dis- 
parity of  the  fate  between  equals,  the  stricter  morals,  the 
happier  life,  the  more  peaceful  death,  to  what  can  we 
trace  it,  but  to  the  healthful  power  of  religion,  over  the 

20  heart  and  conduct?  Was  not  this,  we  ask,  the  ruling 
secret?  Hamilton  was  a  Christian  in  his  youth,  and  a 
penitent  Christian,  we  doubt  not,  on  his  dying  bed ;  but 
Jay  was  a  Christian,  so  far  as  man  may  judge,  every  day 
and  hour  of  his  life.     He  had  but  one  rule,  the  gospel  of 

25  Christ ;  in  that  he  was  nurtured, — ruled  by  that,  through 
grace  he  lived, — resting  on  that,  in  prayer,  he  died. 

Admitting,  then,  as  we  do,  both  names  to  be  objects  of 
our  highest  sympathetic  admiration,  yet,  with  the  name 
of  Hamilton,  as  the  master  says  of  tragedy,  the  lesson  is 

SO  given, — "  with  pity  and  in  fear."  Not  so  with  that  of  Jay ; 
with  him  we  walk  fearless,  as  in  the  steps  of  one  who  was 
a  CHRISTIAN,  as  well  as  a  patriot. 


LESSON    XC. ADAMS    AND   JEFFERSON.— DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Adams  and  Jefferson,  I  have  said,  are  no  more.  As 
human  beings,  indeed,  they  are  no  more.  They  are  no 
more,  as  in  1776,  bold  and  fearless  advocates  of  indepen- 
dence ;  no  more,  as  on  subsequent  periods,  the  head  of  the 
5  government;  no  more,  as  we  have  recently  seen  them, 
aged  and  venerable  objects  of  admiration  and  regard. 
They  are  no  more.     They  are  dead. 

But  how  little  is  there  of  the  great  and  good,  which  can 
18^ 


210  AMERICAN   COA»ION-SCHOOL  |^PART  Jl 

die !  To  their  country  they  yet  live,  and  live  forever 
They  live,  in  all  that  perpetuates  the  remembrance  o* 
men  on  earth  ;  in  the  recorded  proofs  of  iheir  own  great 
actions,  in  the  offspring  of  their  intellect,  in  the  deep 
5  engraved  lines  of  public  gratitude,  and  in  the  respect  and 
homage  of  mankind.  They  live  in  their  example  ;  and 
they  live,  emphatically,  and  will  live,  in  the  influence 
which  their  lives  and  etforts,  their  principles  and  opinions, 
now  exercise,  and  will  continue  to  exercise,  on  the  afftiirs 

10  of  men,  not  only  in  their  own  country,  but  throughout  the 
civilized  world. 

A  superior  and  commanding  human  intellect,  a  truly 
great  man,  when  Heaven  vouchsafe?  so  rare  a  gift,  is  not 
a  temporary  flame,  burning  bright  for  a  w^hile,  and  then 

15  expiring,  giving  place  to  returning  darkness.  It  is  rather 
a  spark  of  fervent  heat,  as  well  as  radiant  light,  with 
power  to  enkindle  the  common  mass  of  human  mmJ ;  so 
that,  when  it  glimmers,  in  its  own  decay,  and  finally  goes 
out  in  death,  no  night  follows ;  but  it  leaves  the  world  all 

20  light,  all  on  fire,  from  the  potent  contact  of  its  own  spirit. 

Bacon  died ;  but  the  human  understanding,  roused,  by 

the  touch  of  his  miraculous  wand,  to  a  perception  of  t)ie 

true   philosophy,  and   the   just   mod*  of  inquiring    after 

truth,  has  kept  on  its  course,  successfully  and  gloriously. 

25  Newton  died;  yet  the  courses  of  the  spheres  are  still 
known,  and  they  yet  move  on,  in  the  orbits  which  he 
saw,  and  described  for  them,  in  the  infinity  of  space. 

No  two  men  now  live, — perhaps  it  may  be  doubted, 
whether  any  two  men  have  ever  lived,  in  one  age, — who, 

30  more  than  those  we  now  commemorate,  have  impressed 
their  own  sentiments,  in  regard  to  politics  and  govern- 
ment, on  mankind,  infused  their  own  opinions  more 
deeply  into  the  opinions  of  others,  or  given  a  more  lasting 
direction  to  the  current  of  human  thought.     Their  work 

35  doth  not  perish  with  them.     The  tree  which  they  assist  d 
to  plant,  will  flourish,  although  they  water  it  and  protect 
it  no  longer;  for  it  has  struck  its  roots  deep;  it  has  scnf 
them  to  the  very  centre;  no  storm,  not  of  force  to  burst 
the  orb,  can  overturn  it ;  its  branches  spread  wide  ;  th<  y 

40  stretch  their  protecting  arms  broader  and  broader,  and  us 
top  is  destined  to  reach  the  heavens. 

We  are  not  deceived.  There  is  no  delusion  here.  No 
age  will  come,  in  which  the  American  revolution  will 
appear  less  than  it  is.  'tie  of  the  greatest  events  in  human 


FART    II.]  READER    ANE    SPEAKER.  211 

history.  No  age  will  come,  in  which  it  will  cease  to  be 
seen  and  fell,  on  either  continent,  that -a  mighty  step,  a 
great  advance,  not  only  in  American  affairs,  but  in  human 
affairs,  was  made  on  the  4th  of  July,  1776.  And  no  age 
6  will  come,  we  trust,  so  ignorant,  or  so  unjust,  as  not  to  see 
and  acknowledge  the  efficient  agency  of  these  we  now 
honor,  in  producing  thai  momentous  event. 


LESSON  XCI. THE  DESTINY  OF  OUR  REPUBLIC. G.  S.  HILLARD. 

Let  no  one  accuse  me  of  seeing  wild  visions,  and  dream- 
ing impossible  dreams.  I  am  only  stating  what  may  be 
done,  and  what  will  be  done.  We  may  most  shamefully 
betray  the  trust  reposed  >n  us, — we  may  most  miserably 
6  defeat  the  fond  hopes  entertained  of  us.  We  may  become 
the  scorn  of  tyrants  and  the  jest  of  slaves.  From  our  fate, 
oppression  may  assume  a  bolder  front  of  insolence,  and  its 
victims  sink  into  a  darker  despair. 

In  that  pvent,  how  unspeakable  will  be  our  disgrace, — 

10  with  what  weight  of  mountains  will  the  infamy  lie  upon 
our  souls.  The  gulf  of  our  ruin  will  be  as  deep,  as  the 
elevation  we  might  have  attained,  is  high.  How  wilt 
thou  fall  from  heaven,  O  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning ! 
Our  beloved  country  with  asl^ps  for  beauty,  the  golden 

15  cord  of  our  union  broken,  its  scattered  fragments  present- 
ing every  form  of  misrule,  from  the  wildest  anarchy  to  tlie 
most  ruthless  despotism,  our  "soil  drenched  ^vith  fraterna] 
blood,"  the  life  of  man  stripped  of  its  grace  and  dignity, 
the  prizes  of  honor  gone,  and  virtue  divorced  from  half  its 

i^O  encouragements  and  supports, — these  are  gloomy  pictures, 
which  I  would  not  invite  your  imaginations  to  dwell  upon, 
but  only  to  glance  at,  for  the  sake  of  the  warning  lessons 
we  may  draw  from  them. 

Remember,  that  we  can  have  none  of  those  consolations, 

25  which  sustain  the  patriot,  who  mourns  over  the  unde- 
served misfortunes  of  his  country.  Our  Rome  cannot  fall, 
and  we  be  innocent.  No  conqueror  will  chain  us  to  the 
car  of  his  triumph, — no  countless  swarm  of  Huns  and 
Goths  will  bury  the  memorials  and  trophies  of  civilized 

30  life,  beneath  a  living  tide  of  barbarism.  Our  own  selfish* 
ness,  our  own  neglect,  our  own  passions,  and  our  own 
vices,  will  furnish  the  elements  of  our  deolruction.     With 


212  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAUT  IL 

our  own  hands,  we  shall  tear  do\vn  the  stately  edifice  of 
our  glory.     Wc  shall  die  by  self-inflicted  wounds. 

But  we  will  not  talk  of  themes  like  these.  We  will  not 
think  of  failure,  dishonor,  and  despair.  We  will  elevate 
5  our  minds  to  the  contemplation  of  our  high  duties,  and  the 
great  trust  committed  to  us.  We  will  resolve  to  lay  the 
foundations  of  our  prosperity  on  that  rock  of  private  virtue, 
which  cannot  be  shaken,  until  the  laws  of  the  moral  world 
are  reversed.     From  our  own  breasts  shall  flow  the  salient 

10  springs  of  national  increase.     Then  our  success,  our  hap- 
piness, our  glory,  will  be  as  inevitable,  as  the  inferences  of 
mathematics.      We  may  calmly  smile  at  all  the  croakii:gs 
of  all  the  ravens,  whether  of  native  or  foreign  breed. 
The  whole  will  not  grow  weak,  by  the  increase  of  its 

15  parts.  Our  growth  will  be  Hke  that  of  the  mountain  oak, 
which  strikes  its  roots  more  deeply  into  the  soil,  and  clings 
to  it  with  a  closer  grasp,  as  its  lofty  head  is  exalted,  and 
its  broad  arms  stretched  out.  The  loud  burst  of  joy  and 
gratitude,  which  this,  the  anniversary  of  our  Independence, 

20  is  breaking  from  the  full  hearts  of  a  mighty  people,  will 
never  cease  to  be  heard.  No  chasms  of  sullen  silence  will 
interrupt  its  course, — no  discordant  notes  of  sectional  mad- 
ness, mar  the  general  harmony.  Year  after  year  will  in- 
crease it,  by  tributes  from  now  unpeopled  solitudes.     The 

25  farthest  West  shall  hear  it  and  rejoice, — the  Oregon  shall 
swell  it  with  the  voice  of  its  waters, — the  Rocky  mountains 
shall  fling  back  the  glad  sound  from  their  snowy  crests. 


LESSON   XCII. POSTHUMOUS    INFLUENCE    OF   THE    WISE    AND 

GOOD. ANDREWS    NORTON. 

The  relations,  between  man  and  man,  cease  not  with  life. 
The  dead  leave  behind  them  their  memory,  their  example, 
and  the  effects  of  their  actions.  Their  influence  still 
abides  with  us.     Their  names  and  characters  dwell  in  our 

5  thoughts  and  hearts.  We  live  and  commune  with  them 
in  their,  writings.  We  enjoy  the  benefit  of  their  labors. 
Our  institutions  have  been  founded  by  them.  We  are 
surrounded  by  the  works  of  the  dead.  Our  knowledge 
and  our  arts,  are  the  fruit  of  their  toil.     Our  minds  have 

10  been  formed  by  their  instructions.  We  are  most  inti- 
mately connected  with  them,  by  a  thousand  dependencies. 
Those  whom  we  have  loved,  in  life,  are  still  objects  of  our 
deepest  and  holiest  afTections.     Their  power  over  us  re- 


Jl 


«>ART   11.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  213 

mains.  They  are  with  us,  in  our  solitary  walks ;  and 
their  voices  speak  to  our  hearts,  in  the  silence  of  midnig^ht. 
Their  image  is  impressed  upon  our  dearest  recollections, 
and  our  most  sacred  hopes.     They  torm  an  essential  part 

5  of  our  treasure  laid  up  in  heaven.  For,  above  all,  we  are 
separated  from  them  but  for  a  little  time.  We  are  soon  to 
be  united  with  them.  If  we  follow  in  the  path  of  those  we 
have  loved,  we  too  shall  soon  join  the  innumerable  com- 
pany of  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect.  Our  affections, 

10  and  our  hopes,  are  not  buried  in  the  dust,  to  which  we 
commit  the  poor  remains  of  mortality.  The  blessed  retain 
their  remembrance  and  their  love  for  us,  in  heaven  ;  and 
we  will  cherish  our  remembrance  and  our  love  for  them, 
while  on  earth. 

15  Creatures  of  imitation  and  sympathy,  as  we  are,  we  look 
around  us  for  support  and  countenance,  even  in  our  virtues. 
We  recur  for  them,  most  securely,  to  the  examples  of  the 
dead.  There  is  a  degree  of  insecurity  and  uncertainty, 
about  living  worth.     The  stamp  has  not  yet  been  put  upon 

20  it,  which  precludes  all  change,  and  seals  it  up,  as  a  just 
object  of  admiration  for  future  times.  There  is  no  service 
which  a  man  of  commanding  intellect  can  render  his  fel- 
low-creatures, bett'^r,  than  that  of  leaving  behind  him  an 
unspotted  example.     If  he  do  not  cunfer  upon  them  this 

St5  benefit ;  if  he  leave  a  character  dark  with  vices,  in  the 
sight  of  God,  but  dazzling  with  shining  qualities,  in  the 
view  of  men  ;  it  may  be  that  all  his  other  services  had  bet- 
ter have  been  forborne,  and  he  had  passed,  inactive  and 
unnoticed,  through  life.     It  is  a  dictate  of  wisdom,  there- 

30  fore,  as  well  as  feeling,  when  a  man,  eminent  for  his  vir- 
tues and  talents,  has  been  taken  away,  to  collect  the  riches 
of  his  goodness,  and  add  them  to  the  treasury  of  human 
improvement.  The  true  Christian  livetk  iiot  for  hhnself 
and  dieih  7iot  for  himself ;  and  it  is  thus,  in  one  respei't 

35  that  he  dieth  not  for  himself.     • 


LESSON    XCIII. LOOK   ALOFT. J.  LAWRENCE,  JR. 

In  the  tempest  of  life,  when  the  wave  and  the  gale 
Are  around  and  above,  if  thy  footing  should  fail, 
If  thine  eye  should  grow  dim,  and  thy  caution  depart 
"Look  aloft !"  and  be  firm,  and  be  fearless  of  heart. 

5  If  the  friend  who  embraced  in  prosperity's  glow. 
With  a  smile  for  each  joy  and  a  tear  for  each  wocu 


2U 


AXBftlCAN  COMMON-SCHOOL 


[part  n. 


Should  betray  thee  when  sorrows  like  clouds  are  arrayed 
"Look  aloft !"  to  the  friendship  which  never  shall  fade. 

Should  the  visions  which  hope  spreads  in  light  to  thine 

eye, 
Like  the  tints  of  the  rainbow,  but  brighten  to  fly, 
5  Then  turn,  and  through  tears  of  repentant  regret, 
"Look  aloft!"  to  the  Sun  that  is  never  to  set. 

Should  they  who  are  dearest,  the  son  of  thy  heart, 
The  wife  of  thy  bosom,  in  sorrow  depart, 
"Look  aloft"  from  the  darkness  and  dust  of  the  tomb, 
10  To  that  soil  where  affection  is  ever  in  bloom. 

And  oh !  when  death  comes  in  his  terrors,  to  cast 
His  fears  on  the  future,  his  pall  on  the  past, 
In  that  moment  of  darkness,  with  hope  in  thy  heart, 
And  a  smile  in  thine  esye,  "  look  aloft "  and  depart. 


10 


20 


LESSON   XCIV. — ODE    ON    WAR. — WM.  H.  BURLEIGH. 

Hark  ! — the  cry  of  Death  is  ringing 

Wildly  from  the  reeking  plain  : 
Guilty  Glory,  too,  is  flinging 

Proudly  forth  her  vaunting  strain. 
I      Thousands  on  the  field  are  lying. 

Slaughtered  in  the  ruthless  strife  ; 
Wildly  mingled,  dead  and  dying 

Show  the  waste  of  human  life  ! 

Christian !  can  you  idly  slumber, 

While  this  work  of  hell  goes  on  ? 
Can  you  calmly  sit  and  number 

Fellow-beings,  one  by  one. 
On  the  field  of  battle  falling. 

Sinking  to  a  bloody  grave  ? 
Up!  the  God  of  peace  is  calling, 

Calling  upon  you  to  save  ! 

Listen  to  the  supplications 

Of  the  widowed  ones  of  earth  ; 
Listen  to  the  cry  of  nations. 

Ringing  loudly,  wildly  forth,— 
Nations  bruised,  and  crushed  forever 

Hy  the  iron  heel  of  War  ! 
God  of  mercy,  wilt  thou  never 

Send  deliverance  from  afar  ? 


PART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  214 

Yes  !  a  light  is  faintly  gleaming" 

Through  the  cloud  that  hovers  o*er; 
Soon  the  radiance  of  its  beaming 

Full  upon  our  land  will  pour ; 
5  'T  is  the  light  that  tells  the  dawning 

Of  the  bright  millennial  day, 
Heralding  its  blessed  morning 

With  its  peace-bestowing  ray. 

God  shall  spread  abroad  his  banner, 
10  Sign  of  universal  peace  ; 

And  the  earth  shall  shout  hosanna, 

And  the  reign  of  blood  shall  cease. 
Man  no  more  shall  seek  dominion 
Through  a  sea  of  human  gore  ; 
15  War  shall  spread  its  gloomy  pinion 

O'er  the  peaceful  earth  no  more. 


LESSON  XCV. THE    LAST  DAYS   OF   AUTUMN. HENRY  PICKERING 

Hark !  to  the  sounding  gale  !  how  through  the  soul 
It  vibrates,  and  in  thunder  seems  to  roll 
Along  the  mountains !     Loud  the  forest  moans, 
And,  naked  to  the  blast,  the  o'ermastering  spirit  owns. 

5       Rustling,  the  leaves  are  rudely  hurried  by, 

Or  in  dark  eddies  whirled ;  while  from  on  high 
The  ruffian  Winds,  as  if  in  giant  mirth, 
Unseat  the  mountain  pine,  and  headlong  dash  to  earth ! 

With  crest  of  foam,  the  uplifted  flood  no  more 
10       Flows  placidly  along  the  sylvan  shore  ; 

But,  vexed  to  madness,  heaves  its  turbid  wave. 
Threatening  to  leave  the  banks  it  whilom  loved  to  lave : 

And  in  the  angry  heavens,  where,  wheeling  low, 
The  sun  exhibits  yet  a  fitful  glow, 
,  6       The  clouds,  obedient  to  the  stormy  power. 

Or  shattered,  fly  along,  or  still  more  darkly  lower. 

Amazement  seizes  all !  within  the  vale 
Shrinking,  the  mute  herd  snufl^  the  shivering  gale ; 
The  while,  with  tossing  head  and  streaming  mane, 
20  The  horse  aflTrighted  bounds,  or  wildly  skims  the  plain. 

Whither,  with  charms  to  Fancy  yet  so  dear, 
Whither  has  fled  the  lovely  infant  year? 


816  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   II 

Where,  too,  the  groves  in  greener  pomp  arrayed  ? 
The  deep  and  solemn  gloom  of  the  inspiring  shade  ? 

The  verdant  heaven  that  once  the  woods  o'erspread, 
And  underneath  a  pensive  twilight  shed, 
6       Is  shrivelled  all :  dead  the  vine-mantled  bowers. 
And  withered  in  their  bloom  the  beautiful  young  (lowers 

Mute,  too,  the  voice  of  Joy  !  no  tuneful  bird 
Amid  the  leafless  forest  now  is  heard  ; 
Nor  more  may  ploughboy's  laugh  the  bosom  cheer, 
10  Nor  in  the  velvet  glade  Love's  whisper  charm  the  ear. 

But  lo  !  the  ruthless  storm  its  force  hath  spent ; 
And  see !  where  sinking  *neath  yon  cloudy  tent, 
The  sun  withdraws  his  last  cold,  feeble  ray, 
Abandoning  to  Night  his  short  and  dubious  sway 

15       A  heavier  gloom  pervades  the  chilly  air ! 

Now  in  their  northern  caves  the  Winds  prepare 
The  nitrous  frost  to  sheet  with  dazzling  white, 
The  long  deserted  fields  at  the  return  of  light : 

Or  with  keen  icy  breath  they  may  glass  o'er 
20       The  restless  wave,  and  on  the  lucid  floor 

Let  fall  the  feathery  shower,  and  far  and  wide 
Involve  in  snowy  robe  the  land  and  fettered  tide ! 

Thus  shut  the  varied  scene !  and  thus,  in  turn, 
O  Autumn  !  thou  within  thine  ample  urn 
9S       Sweep*st  all  earth *s  glories.     Ah,  for  one  brief  hour, 
Spare  the  soft  virgin's  bloom  and  tender  human  flower ! 


LESSON    XCVI. MAN. ^.  Y.  EVEMNG  TOST. 

The  human  mind, — that  lofty  thing ! 

The  palace  and  the  throne, 
Wliere  reason  sits  a  sceptred  king. 

And  breathes  his  judgment  tone. 
6  Oh  !  who  with  silent  step  shall  trace 

The  borders  of  that  haunted  place. 

Nor  in  his  weakness  own 
That  mystery  and  marvel  bind 
That  lofty  thing, — the  human  mind ! 

10  The  human  heart, — that  restless  thing  ' 

The  tempter  and  the  tried : 


WASLT  U.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  217 

The  joyous,  yet  the  suffering, — 
The  source  of  pain  and  pride  ; 
The  gorgeous  thronged, — the  desolate, 
'  The  seat  of  love,  the  lair  of  hate, — 
5  Self-stung,  self-deified  ! 

Yet  do  we  bless  thee  as  thou  art, 
Thou  restless  thing, — the  human  heart ! 

The  human  soul, — that  startling  thing! 
Mysterious  and  sublime ! 
10    *  The  angel  sleeping  on  the  wing 

Worn  by  the  scoffs  of  time, — 
The  beautiful,  the  veiled,  the  bound. 
The  earth-enslaved,  the  glory-crowned, 
The  stricken  in  its  prime ! 
15  From  heaven  in  tears  to  earth  it  stole. 

That  startling  thing, — the  human  soul !  • 

And  this  is  man  : — Oh  !  ask  of  him. 

The  gifted  and  forgiven, — 
While  o'er  his  vision,  drear  and  dim, 
20  The  wrecks  of  time  are  driven ; 

If  pride  or  passion  in  their  power, 
Can  chain  the  time,  or  charm  the  hour, 

Or  stand  in  place  of  heaven  ? 
He  bends  the  brow,  he  bows  the  knee,— 
25  "  Creator,  Father !  none  but  thee  !  V 


LESSON   XCVIT. — PASSAGE    DOWN   THE    OHIO.^JAMES  K. 

PAULDING. 

As  down  Ohio's  ever-ebbing  tide, 
Oarless  and  sailless,  silently  they  glide, 
How  still  the  scene,  how  lifeless,  yet  how  fair, 
Was  the  lone  land  that  met  the  strangers  then  ! 

5         No  smiling  villages,  or  curling  smoke. 
The  busy  haunts  of  busy  men  bespoke ; 
No  solitary  hut  the  banks  along, 
Sent  forth  blithe  Labor's  homely,  rustic  song; 
No  urchin  gambolled  on  the  smooth  white  sand, 

10         Or  hurled  the  skipping-stone  with  playful  hand, 

While  playmate  dog  plunged  in  the  clear  blue  ware, 
And  swam,  in  vain,  the  sinking  prize  to  save. 
Where  now  are  seen,  along  the  river  side, 
V  oung  busy  towns,  in  buxom  painted  pride, 
19 


218  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  [PARl    fl 

And  fleets  of  gliding  boats  with  riches  crowned, 
To  distant  Orleans  or  St.  Louis  bound, 
Nothing  appeared  but  nature  unsubdued, 
One  endless,  noiseless  woodland  solitude, 
5         Or  boundless  prairie,  that  aye  seemed  to  be 
As  level  and  as  lifeless  as  the  sea ; 
They  seemed  to  breathe  in  this  wide  world  alone, 
Heirs  of  the  Earth, — the  land  was  all  their  own  ! 

'T  was  evening  now :  the  hour  of  toil  was  o'er, 

10         Yet  still  they  durst  not  seek  the  fearful  shore, 
Lest  watchful  Indian  crew  should  silent  creep, 
And  spring  upon  and  murder  them  in  sleep ; 
So  through  the  livelong  night  they  held  their  way, 
And  't  was  a  night  might  shame  the  fairest  day ; 

15         So  still,  so  bright,  so  tranquil  was  its  reign. 

They  cared  not  though  the  day  ne'er  came  again. 
The  moon  high  wheeled  the  d,istant  hills  above, 
Silvered  the  fleecy  foliage  of  the  grove. 
That,  as  the  wooing  zephyrs  on  it  fell, 

20         Whispered,  it  loved  the  gentle  visit  well : 

That  fair-faced  orb  alone  to  move  appeared, 

That  zephyr  was  the  only  sound  they  heard. 

No  deep-mouthed  hound  the  hunter's  haunt  betrayt  i 

No  lights  upon  the  shore  or  waters  played, 

25         No  loud  laugh  broke  upon  the  silent  air. 

To  tell  the  wanderers  man  was  nestling  there 
All,  all  was  still,  on  gliding  bark  and  shore. 
As  if  the  earth  now  slept  to  wake  no  more. 


1 


I 


LESSON   XCVIII. SPIRIT   OF    BEAUTY. RUFUS   DAWEJ 

The  Spirit  of  Beauty  unfurls  her  light. 
And  wheels  her  course  in  a  joyous  flight, 
I  know  her  track  through  the  balmy  air, 
By  the  blossoms  that  cluster  and  whiten  there ; 
She  leaves  the  tops  of  the  mountains  green,     • 
And  gems  the  valley  with  crystal  sheen. 

At  morn,  I  know  where  she  rested  at  night,  j 

For  the  roses  are  gushing  with  dewy  delight ;  | 

Then  she  mounts  again,  and  around  her  flings  1 

A  shower  of  light  from  her  purple  wings,  ! 

Till  the  spirit  is  drunk  with  the  music  on  high,  \ 

That  silently  fills  it  with  ecstasy !  i 


PART   II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER,  219 

At  noon,  she  hies  to  a  cool  retreat, 
Where  Lowering  elms  over  waters  meet ; 
She  dimples  the  wave,  where  the  green  leaves  dip; 
That  smiles,  as  it  curls,  like  a  maiden's  lip, 
5         When  her  tremulous  bosom  would  hide  in  vain, 
From  her  lover,  the  hope  that  she  loves  again. 

At  eve,  she  hangs  o'er  the  western  sky- 
Dark  clouds  for  a  glorious  canopy ; 
And  round  the  skirts  of  each  sweeping  fold, 
K)         She  paints  a  border  of  crimson  and  gold. 

Where  the  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  stay. 
When  their  god  in  his  glory  has  passed  away. 

She  hovers  around  us  at  twilight  hour. 
When  her  presence  is  felt  with  the  deepest  power ; 
(5         She  mellows  the  landscape,  and  crowds  the  stream 
With  shadows  that  flit  like  a  fairy  dream: — 
Still  wheeling  her  flight  through  the  gladsome  air. 
The  Spirit  of  Beauty  is  every  where  ! 


LESSON   XCIX. EDUCATION    OF    FEMALES. — JOSEPH   STORY. 

y 

If  Christianity  may  be  said  to  have  given  a  permanent 
elevation  to  woman,  as  an  intellectual  and  moral  being,  it 
is  as  true,  that  the  present  age,  above  all  others,  has  given 
play  to  her  genius,  and  taught  us  to  reverence  its  influ- 
5  ence.  It  was  the  fashion  of  other  times  to  treat  the  lite- 
rary acquirements  of  the  sex,  as  starched  pedantry,  or  vain 
pretension ;  to  stigmatize  them  as  inconsistent  with  those 
domestic  aflections  and  virtues,  which  constitute  the  charm 
of  society.     We  had  abundant  homilies  read  upon  their 

10  amiable  weaknesses  and  sentimental  delicacy,  upon  their 
timid  gentleness  and  submissive  dependence  ;  as  if  to  taste 
the  frvjit  of  knowledge  were  a  deadly  sin,  and  ignorance 
were  the  sole  guardian  of  innocence.  Their  whole  lives 
were  **  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought;"  and 

15  concealment  of  intellectual  power  was  often  resorted  to,  to 
escape  the  dangerous  imputation  of  mrisculine  strength. 

In  the  higher  walks  of  life,  the  satirist  was  not  without 
color  for  the  suggestion,  that  it  was 

"  A  youth  of  folly,  an  old  age  of  cards ; " 

20  and  that,  elsewhere,  "  most  women  had  no  character  at 
all,"  beyond  that  of  purity  and  devotion  to  their  families. 


220  AMBBICAN  COBOiON-SCnOOL  [PART  1 

Admirable  as  are  these  Qualities,  it  seemed  an  abuse  of  tlui 
gifts  of  Providence,  to  deny  to  mothers  the  power  of  in- 
structing their  children,  to  wives  the  privilege  of  sharing 
the  intellectual  pursuits  of  their  husbands,  to  sisters  ana 
5  daughters  the  delight  of  ministering  knowledge  in  the 
fireside  circle,  to  youth  and  beauty  the  charm  of  refined 
sense,  to  age  and  infirmity  the  consolation  of  studies 
which  elevate  the  soul,  and  gladden  the  listless  hours  of 
despondency. 

10  These  things  have,  in  a  great  measure,  passed  away. 
The  prejudices,  which  dishonored  the  sex,  have  yielded 
to  the  influence  of  truth.  By  slow,  but  sure  advances, 
education  has  extended  itself  through  all  ranks  of  female 
society.    There  is  no  longer  any  dread,  lest  the  culture  of 

15  science  should  foster  that  masculine  boldness,  or  restless 
independence,  which  alarms  by  its  sallies,  or  wounds  by 
its  inconsistencies.  We  have  seen  that  here,  as  every- 
where else,  knowledge  is  favorable  to  human  virtue 
and  human  happiness ;  that  the  refinement  of  literature 

20  adds  lustre  to  the  devotion  of  piety ;  that  true  learning, 
like  true  taste,  is  modest  and  unostentatious  ;  that  grace 
of  manners  receives  a  higher  polish  from  the  discipline 
of  the  schools;  that  cultivated  genius  sheds  a  cheering 
light   over   domestic   duties,  and   its  very  sparkles,  like 

25  those  of  the  diamond,  attest  at  once  its  power  and  its 
purity. 

There  is  not  a  rank  of  female  society,  however  high, 
which  does  not  now  pay  homage  to  literature,  or  that  would 
not  blush,  even  at  the  suspicion  of  that  ignorance,  which,  a 

30  half  century  ago,  was  neither  uncommon,  nor  discreditable. 
There  is  not  a  parent,  whose  pride  may  not  glow  at  tlia 
thought,  that  his  daughter's  happiness  is,  in  a  gr:2t  meas- 
ure, within  her  own  command,  whether  she  keeps  the 
cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life,  or  visits  the  buoy  walks  of 

35  fashion. 

A  new  path  is  thus  opened  for  female  exertion,  to  alle- 
viate the  pressure  of  misfortune,  without  any  suppose  d 
sacrifice  of  dignity,  or  modesty.  Man  no  longer  aspires  to 
an  exclusive  dominion  in  authorship.     He  has  rivals,  or 

40  allies,  in  almost  every  department  of  knowledge  ;  and  they 
are  to  be  found  among  those,  whose  elegance  of  manners, 
and  blamelessness  of  life,  command  his  respect,  as  much 
as  their  talents  excite  his  admiration. 


FAET   II.]                         READER   AND   SPEAKER.  221 

LESSON    C. TlIE    VOICES    OF    THE    DEAD. ORVILLE  DEWEY. 

The  world  is  filled  with  the  voices  of  the  dead.  They 
speak,  not  from  the  public  records  of  the  great  world  only, 
but  from  the  private  history  of  our  own  experience.  They 
speak  to  us,  in  a  thousand  remembrances,  in  a  thousand 
5  incidents,  events,  associations.  They  speak  to  us,  not 
only  from  their  silent  graves,  but  from  the  throng  of  life. 
Though  they  are  invisible,  yet  life  is  filled  with  their 
presence. 

They  are  with  us,  by  the  silent  fireside,  and  in  the  seclu- 
0  ded  chamber  :  they  are  with  us,  in  the  paths  of  society,  and 
in  the  crowded  assembly  of  mp,n.  They  speak  to  us,  from 
the  lonely  way-side ;  and  they  speak  to  us,  from  the  ven- 
erable walls  that  echo  to  the  steps  of  a  multitude,  and  to 
the  voice  of  prayer.    Go,  where  we  will,  the  dead  are  with 

IJ  us.  We  live,  we  converse,  with  those,  who  once  lived  and 
conversed  with  us.  Their  well  remembered  tone  mingles 
with  the  whispering  breezes,  with  the  sound  of  the  falling 
leaf,  with  the  jubilee  shout  of  the  spring-time.  The  earth 
is  filled  with  their  shadowy  train. 

20  But  there  are  more  substantial  expressions  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  dead,  with  the  living.  The  earth  is  filled  with 
the  labors,  the  works,  of  the  dead.  Almost  all  the  litera- 
ture in  the  world,  the  discoveries  of  science,  the  glories 
of  art,  the  ever-during   temples,  the  dwelling-places  of 

25  generations,  the  comforts  and  improvements  of  life,  the 
languages,  the  maxims,  the  opinions,  of  the  living,  the  very 
frame-work  of  society,  the  institutions  of  nations,  the  fabrics 
of  empire, — all  are  the  works  of  the  dead :  by  these,  they 
who  are  dead,  yet  speak. 


LESSON    CI. THE    JEWISH    REVELATION. DR.  NOYES. 

The  peculiar  religious  character  of  the  Psalms,  which 
distinguishes  them  from  the  productions  of  other  nations 
of  antiquity,  is  well  worthy  of  the  attention  of  such  as  are 
disposed  to  doubt  the  reality  of  the  Jewish  revelation. 
I  do  not  refer  to  the  prophetic  character,  which  some  of 
them  are  supposed  to  possess,  but  to  the  comparative  puri- 
ty and  fervor  of  religious  feeling,  which  they  manifest; 
the  sublimity  and  justness  of  the  views  of  the  Deity,  and 
of  his  government  of  the  world,  which  they  present;  and 
19* 


222  AMERICAN  COmiQII-eCHOOL  [PAET  n 

the  clear  perccpiion  oi  a  ^<piritual  good,  infinitely  to  be 
preferred  to  any  external  possession,  N>^ich  is  found  in 
tliein.  Let  thoni  be  considered,  as  the  expression  and  fruit 
of  the  principles  of  the  Jewish   religion,  as  they  existed 

6  in  the  minds  of  pious  Israelites,  and  do  they  not  bear 
delightful  teslinionv  to  the  reality  of  the  successive  reve- 
lations, alleged  to  have  been  made  to  the  Hebrew  nation, 
and  of  the  peculiar  relation  which  the  Most  High  is  said 
to  have  sustained  towards  them  ? 

10  Let  the  unbeliever  compare  the  productions  of  the 
Hebrew  poets,  with  those  of  the  most  enlightened  periods 
of  Grecian  literature.  Let  him  explain,  how  it  happened, 
that  in  the  most  celebrated  cities  of  antiquity,  which  human 
reason  had  adorned  with  the  most  splendid  trophies  of  art, 

16  whose  architecture  it  is  now  thought  high  praise  to  imitate 
well,  whose  sculpture  almost  gave  life  to  marble,  whose 
poetry  has  never  been  surpassed,  and  whose  eloquence  has 
never  been  equalled,  a  religion  prevailed,  so  absurd  ami 
frivolous,  as  to  be  beneath  the  contempt  of  a  child,  at  the 

20  present  day ;  while  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  world,  in  a 
nation  in  some  respects  imperfectly  civilized,  were  breathed 
forth  those  strains  of  devotion,  which  now  animate  the 
hearts  of  millions,  and  are  the  vehicle  of  their  feelingi  to 
the  throne  of  God.    Let  him  say,  if  there  be  not  some 

25  ground  for  the  conclusion,  that  whilst  tfie  corner-stone  of 
the  heathen  systems  of  religion,  was  unassisted  human 
reason,  that  of  the  Jewish  was  an  immediate  revelation 
from  the  Father  of  lights. 


»L 


LESSON   CII. — INCITEMENTS   TO   AMERICAN   INTELLECT.— 
G.  S.  HILLARD. 

The  motives  to  intellectual  action,  press  upon  us  with 
peculiar  force,  in  our  country,  because  the  connection  is 
nere  so  immediate  between  character  and  happiness, 
and  because  there  is  nothing  between  us  and  ruin,  but 
5  intelligence  which  sees  the  right,  and  virtue  which  pur- 
sues it. 

There  are  such  elements  of  hope  and  fear,  mingled  ia 

the  great  experiment  which  is  here  trying,  the  results  are 

so  momentous  to  humanity,  that  all  the  voices  of  the  past 

10  and  the  future,  seem  to  blend  in  one  sound  of  warning  and 


PART   II.'',  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  22? 

entreaty,  addressing  itself,  not  only  to  the  general,  but  to 
the  individual  ear.  By  the  wrecks  of  shattered  states,  by 
the  quenched  lights  of  promise,  that  once  shone  upon  man, 
by  the  long  deferred  hopes  of  humanity,  by  all  that  has 
6  been  done  and  suffered,  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  by  the 
martyrs  that  died  before  the  sight,  by  the  exiles,  whose 
hearts  have  been  crushed  in  dumb\lespair,  by  the  memory 
of  our  fathers  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, — it  calls  upon 
us,  each  and  all,  to  be  faithful  to  the  trust  which  God  has 

10  committed  to  our  hands. 

That  fine  natures  should  here  feel  their  energies  palsied 
by  the  cold  touch  of  indifference,  that  they  should  turn 
to  Westminster  Abbey,  or  the  Alps,  or  the  Vatican,  to 
quicken  their  flagging  pulses,  is,  of  all  mental  anomalies, 

15  the  most  inexplicable.     The  danger  would  seem  to  be 

rather,  that  the  spring  of  a  sensitive  mind  may  be  broken 

by  the  weight  of  obligation  that  rests  upon  it,  and  that  the 

stimulant,  by  its  very  excess,  may  become  a  narcotic. 

The  poet  must  not  plead  his  delicacy  of  organization,  as 

20  an  excuse,  for  dwelling  apart  in  trim  gardens  of  leisure, 
and  looking  at  the  world  only  through  the  loop-holes  of 
his  retreat.  Let  him  fling  himself,  with  gallant  heart, 
upon  the  stirring  life,  that  heaves  and  foams  around  him. 
He  must  call  home  his  imagination  from  those  spots,  on 

25  which  the  light  of  other  days  has  thrown  its  pensive 
charm,  and  be  content  to  dwell  among  his  own  people. 
The  future  and  the  present  must  inspire  him,  and  not  the 
past.  He  must  transfer,  to  his  pictures,  the  glow  of  morn- 
ing, and  not  the  hues  of  sunset.     He  must  not  go  to  any 

30  foreign  Pharphar,  or  Abana,  for  the  sweet  influences  which 
he  may  find  in  that  familiar  stream,  on  whose  banks  he 
has  played  as  a  child,  and  mused  a^a  man. 

Let  him  dedicate  his  powers  to  the  best  interests  of  his 
country.     Let  him   sow  the  seeds  of  beauty  along  that 

35  dusty  road,  where  humanity  toils  and  sweats  in  the  sun. 
Let  him  spurn  the  baseness  which  ministers  food  to  the 
passions  which  blot  out,  in  man's  soul,  the  image  of  God. 
Let  not  his  hands  add  one  seductive  charm  to  the  unzoned 
form  of  pleasure,  nor  twine  the  roses  of  his  genius  around 

40  the  reveller's  wine-cup.  Let  him  mingle  with  his  verse 
those  grave  and  high  elements  befitting  him,  around  whom 
the  air  of  freedom  blows,  and  upon  whom  the  light  of 
heaven  shines.  Let  him  teach  those  stern  virtues  of  self- 
control   and   self-renunciation,  of  faith   and   patience,  of 


224  ixmcAN  coMMoN-scnooL  [part  n 

abstinence   and   fortitude, — which  constitute   the   founda- 
tions alike  of  individual  happiness,  and  of  national  pros 
pcrily. 

Let  him  help  to  rear  up  this  ^eat  people  to  the  stature 

6  and  symmetry  of  a  moral  manhood.  Let  him  look  abroad 
upon  this  young  world  in  hope,  and  not  in  despondency.  Let 
him  not  be  repelled  by  the  coarse  surface  of  material  life. 
Let  him  survey  it,  with  the  piercing  insight  of  genius,  and 
in  the  reconciling  spirit  of  love.    Let  him  find  inspiration, 

10  wherever  man  is  found  ;  in  the  sailor,  singing  at  the  wind- 
lass ;  in  the  roaring  flames  of  the  furnace ;  in  the  dizzy 
spindles  of  the  factory  ;  in  the  regular  beat  of  the  thresher's 
flail ;  in  the  smoke  of  the  steam-ship ;  in  the  whistle  of 
the  locomotive.     Let  the  mountain   wind  blow  courage 

15  into  him.  Let  him  pluck  from  the  stars  of  his  own  wintry 
sky,  thoughts,  serene  as  their  own  light,  lofty  as  their  own 
place.  Let  the  purity  of  the  majestic  heavens  flow  into 
his  soui.  Let  his  genius  soar  upon  the  wings  of  faith, 
and  charm  with  the  beauty  of  truth. 


LESSON  cm. IMPORTANCE  OF  KNOWLEDGE  TO  THE  MECHANIC. 

G.  B.   EMERSON. 

Let  us  imagine,  for  a  moment,  the  condition  of  an  indi- 
vidual, who  has  not  advanced  beyond  the  merest  elements 
of  knowledge,  who  understands  nothing  of  the  principles 
even  of  his  own  art,  and  inquire,  what  change  will  b(' 
6  wrought  in  his  feelings,  his  hopes,  and  happiness,  in  all 
that  makes  up  the  character,  by  the  gradual  inpouring  of 
knowledge.  He  has  now  the  capacity  of  thought,  but  it 
is  a  barren  faculty,  never  nourished  by  the  food  of  the 
mind,  and  never  rising  above  the  poor  objects  of  sense. 

10  Labor  and  rest,  the  hope  of  mere  animal  enjoyment,  or 
the  fear  of  want,  the  care  of  providing  covering  and  food, 
make  up  the  whole  sum  of  his  existence. 

Such  a  man  may  be  industrious,  but  he  cannot  love 
labor,  for  it  is  not  relieved  by  the  excitement  of  irtiproving, 

15  or  changing,  the  processes  of  his  art,  nor  cheered  by  the? 
hope  of  a  better  condition.  When  released  from  labor, 
he  does  not  rejoice,  for  mere  idleness  is  not  enjoyment ; 
and  he  has  no  book,  no  lesson  of  science,  no  play  of  the 
mind,  no  interesting  pursuit,  to  give  a  zest  to  the  hour  of 

20  leisure.  Home  has  few  charms  for  him;  he  has  little 
taste  for  the  quiet,  the  social  converse,  and  exchange  of 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  2S5 

feeling  and  thought,  the  innocent  enjoyments  that  ough. 
to  dwell  there.  Society  has  little  to  interest  him,  for  he 
has  no  sympathy  for  the  pleasures  or  pursuits,  the  cares 
or  the  troubles  of  others,  to  whom  he  cannot  feel  nor 
5  perceive  his  bonds  of  relationship. 

All  of  life  is  but  a  poor  boon  for  such  a  man  ;  and 
happy  for  himself  and  for  mankind,  if  the  few  ties  that 
hold  him  to  this  negative  existence,  be  not  broken.  Happy 
for  him,  if  that  best  and  surest  friend  of  man,  that  messen- 

10  ger  of  good  news  from  Heaven  to  the  poorest  wretch  on 
earth.  Religion,  bringing  the  fear  of  God,  appear  to  save 
him.  Without  her  to  support,  should  temptation  assail 
him,  what  an  easy  victim  would  he  fall  to  vice  or  crime  ! 
How  little  would  be  necessary  to  overturn  his  ill-balanced 

15  principles,  and  throw  him  grovelling  in  intemperance,  or 
send  him  abroad,  on  the  ocean,  or  the  highway,  an  enemy 
to  himself  and  his  kind  ! 

But  let  the  light  of  science  fall  upon  that  man  ;  open  to 
him  the  fountain  of  knowledge  ;  let  a  few  principles  of 

20  philosophy  enter  his  mind,  and  awaken  the  dormant  po\yer 
of  thought ;  he  begins  to  look  upon  his  art,  with  an  altered 
eye.  It  ceases  to  be  a  dark  mechanical  process,  which  he 
cannot  understand  ;  he  regards  it,  as  an  object  of  inquiry, 
and  begins  to  penetrate  the  reasons,  and  acquire  a  new 

25  mastery  over  his  own  instruments.  He  finds  other  and 
better  modes  of  doing  w^hat  he  had  done  before,  blindly 
and  without  interest,  a  thousand  times.  He  learns  to 
profit  by  the  experience  of  others,  and  ventures  upon  un- 
tried paths.    Difficulties,  which  before  would  have  stopped 

30  him  at  the  outset,  receive  a  ready  solution  from  some 
luminous  principle  of  science.  He  gains  new  knowledge 
and  new  skill,  and  can  improve  the  quality  of  his  manu- 
facture, while  he  shortens  the  process,  and  diminishes  his 
own  labor. 

35  Then,  labor  becomes  sweet  to  him ;  it  is  accompanied 
by  the  consciousness  of  increasing  power  ;  it  is  leading 
him  forward  to  a  higher  place  among  his  fellow-men. 
Relaxation,  too,  is  sweet  to  him,  as  it  enables  him  to  add 
to  his  intellectual  stores,  and  to  mature,  by  undisturbed 

40  meditation,  the  plans  and  conceptions  of  the  hour  of  labor. 
His  home  has  acquired  a  new  charm  ;  for  he  is  become  a 
man  of  thought,  and  feels  and  enjoys  the  peace  and  seclu- 
sion of  that  sacred  retreat ;  and  he  carries  thither  the 
honest   complacency   which   is   the   companion  of  well* 


226  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAKT   D. 

earned  success.  There,  too,  bright  visions  of  the  future 
sphere  open  upon  him,  and  excite  a  kindly  feeling  towards 
those  who  are  to  share  in  his  prosperity. 
.  Thus,  his  mind  and  heart  expand  together.  He  has' 
6  become  an  intelligent  being;  and,  while  he  has  learned  to 
esteem  himself,  he  has  also  learned  to  live  no  longer  for 
himself  alone.  Society  opens,  like  a  new  world,  to  him  ; 
he  looks  upon  his  fellow-creatures  with  interest  and 
sympathy,  and  feels  that  he  has  a  place  in  their  affections 

10  and  respect.  Temptations  assail  him  in  vain.  He  is 
armed  by  high  and  pure  thoughts.  He  takes  a  wider 
view  of  his  relations  with  the  beings  about  and  above 
him.  He  welcomes  every  generous  virtue  that  adorns 
and  dignifies  the  human  character.     He  delights  in  the 

15  exercise  of  reason, — he  glories  in  the  consciousness  and 
the  hope  of  immortality. 


LESSON    civ. MACER    PREACHING    ON    THE    STEPS    OF    THE 

CAPITOL    AT    ROME. WILLIAM    WARE. 

The  crowd  was  restless  and  noisy,  heaving  to  and  fro, 
like  the  fiery  mass  of  a  boiling  crater.  A  thousand  excla- 
mations and  imprecations  filled  the  air.  I  thought  it 
doubtful,  whether  the  rage  which  seemed  to  fill  a  great 
6  proportion  of  those  around  me,  would  so  much  as  permit 
him  to  open  his  mouth.  It  seemed  rather,  as  if  he  would 
at  once  be  dragged,  from  where  he  stood,  to  the  prefect's 
tribunal,  or  hurled  from  the  steps,  and  sacrificed  at  once  to 
the  fury  of  the  populace.     Upon  the  column,  on  his  right 

10  hand,  hung,  emblazoned  with  gold,  and  beautiful  with  all 
the  art  of  the  chirographer,  the  edict  of  Aurelian.  It  was 
upon  parchment,  within  a  brazen  frame. 

Soon  as  quiet  was  restored,  so  that  any  single  voice 
could  be  heard,  he  began. 

15  "  Romans  !  the  emperor,  in  his  edict,  tells  me  not  to 
preach  to  you.  Not  to  preach  Christ  in  Rome,  neither 
within  a  church,  nor  in  the  streets.  Shall  I  obey  him  ? 
When  Christ  savs,  *Go  forth,  and  preach  the  gospel  to 
every  creature,'  snail  I  give  ear  to  a  Roman  emperor,  who 

20  bids  me  hold  my  peace  ?  Not  so,  not  so,  Romans.  I  love 
God  too  well,  and  Christ  too  well,  and  you  too  well,  to 
need  such  bidding.  I  love  Aurelian,  too ;  I  have  served 
long  under  him ;  and  he  was  ever  good  to  me.  He  was  a 
good,  as  well  as  great  general ;  and  I  loved  him.     I  love 


PART  II.J  READER  AND  SPEAKER.  227 

him  now,  but  not  so  well  as  these ;  not  so  well  as  you. 
And  if  I  obeyed  this  edict,  it  would  show  that  I  loved  him 
better  than  you,  and  better  than  these,  which  would  be 
false. 
5  If  I  obeyed  this  edict,  I  should  never  speak  to  you  again 
of  this  new  religion,  as  you  call  it.  I  should  leave  you 
all  to  perish  in  your  sins,  without  any  of  that  knowledge, 
or  faith,  or  hope  in  Christ,  which  would  save  you  from 
them,  and  form  you  after  the  image  of  God,  and  after 

10  death  carry  you  up  to  dwell  with  him,  and  with  just  men, 
forever  and  ever.  I  should  then,  indeed,  show  that  I 
hated  you,  which  I  can  never  do.  I  love  you,  and  Rome, 
I  cannot  tell  how  much, — as  much  as  a  child  ever  loved  a 
mother,  or  children  one  another.    And  therefore,  it  is,  that 

15  no  power  on  earth, — nor  above  it,  nor  under  it, — save  that 
of  God,  shall  hinder  me  from  declaring  to  you,  the  doc- 
trine which  I  think  you  need,  nay,  without  which,  you 
never  can  be  happy.  For,  what  can  your  gods  do  for  you  ? 
What  are  they  doing  ?     They  lift  you  not  up  to  them- 

20  selves, — they  push  you  down  rather  to  hell.  They  can- 
not save  you  from  those  raging  fires  of  sorrow  and 
remorse,  which,  here,  on  earth,  do  constitute  a  hell  hot  as 
any  that  burns  below. 

I  have  told  you  before,  and  I  tell  you  now,  your  vices 

25  are  undermining  the  foundations  of  this  great  empire. 
There  is  no  power  to  cure  these,  but  in  'Jesus  Christ.' 
And,  when  I  know  this,  shall  I  cease  to  preach  Christ  to 
you,  because  a  man,  a  man  like  myself,  forbids  me  ? 
Would  you  not  still  prepare  for  a  friend,  or  a  child,  the 

30  medicine  that  would  save  his  life,  though  you  were 
charged  by  another  ever  so  imperiously  to  forbear  ?  The 
gospel  is  the  divine  medicament  that  is  to  heal  all  your 
sicknesses,  cure  all  your  diseases,  remove  all  your  mis- 
eries, cleanse  all  your  pollutions,  correct  all  your  errors, 

35  and  confirm  within  you  all  necessary  truth. 

And  when  it  is  this  healing  draught  for  which  your  souls 
cry  aloud,  for  which  they  thirst  even  unto  death,  shall  I, 
the  messenger  of  God,  sent  in  the  name  of  his  Son,  to  bear 
to  your  lips  the  cup,  of  which,  if  you  once  drink,  you  shall 

10  live  forever,  withhold  from  you  that  cup,  or  dash  it  to  the 
ground  ?  Shall  I,  a  mediator  between  God  and  man, 
falter  in  my  speech,  and  my  tongue  hang  palsied  in  my 
mouth,  because  Aurelian  speaks  ?  What  to  me,  O  Romans 


AMBRICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  n. 

is  the  edict  of  a  Roman  emperor  ?   Down,  Do^vN,  accurskc 
SCRAWL !  nor  insult  longer  both  God  and  man." 

And  saying  that,  he  reached  forth  his  hand,  and,  seizmg 
the  parchment,   wrenched  it  from  its  brazen  frame,  and, 
5  rending  it  to  shreds,  strewed  them  abroad  upon  tlie  air. 


LESSON  CV. — DEATH  A  SUBLIME  AND  UNIVERSAL  MORALIST.— 
JAKED    SPARKS. 

No  object  is  so  insignificant,  no  event  so  trivial,  as  not 
to  carry  with  it  a  moral  and  religious  influence.  The 
tioe:5,  that  spring  out  of  the  earth,  are  moralists.  They  are 
emblems  of  the  life  of  man.  They  grow  up  ;  they  put  on 
5  the  garments  of  freshness  and  beauty.  Yet  these  continue? 
but  for  a  time ;  decay  seizes  upon  the  root  and  the  trunk, 
and  they  gradually  go  back  to  their  original  elements. 
The  blossoms,  that  open  to  the  rising  sun,  but  are  closed 
at  night,  never  to  open  again,  are  moralists.    The  seasons 

10  are  moralists,  teaching  the  lessons  of  wisdom,  manifestini^ 
ihe  wonders^of  the  Creator,  and  calling  on  man  to  reflect 
on  his  condhion  and  destiny.  History  is  a  perpetual 
moralist,  disclosing  the  annals  of  past  ages,  showing  the 
impotency  of  pride  and  greatness,  the  weakness  of  human 

15  power,  the  folly  of  human  wisdom.  The  daily  occur- 
rences in  society  are  moralists.  The  success  or  failure 
of  enterprise,  the  prosperity  of  the  bad,  the  adversity  of 
the  good,  the  disappointed  hopes  of  the  sanguine  and 
active,  the  suflferings  of  the  virtuous,  the  caprices  of  for- 

20  tune  in  every  condition  of  life,  all  these  are  fraught  with 
moral  instructions,  and,  if  properly  applied,  will  fix  the 
power  of  religion  in  the  heart. 

But  there  is  a  greater  moralist  still ;  and  that  is — Death. 
Here  is  a  teacher,  who  speaks  in  a  voice  which  none  can 

25  mistake ;  who  comes  with  a  power  which  none  can  resist. 
Since  we  last  assembled  in  this  place,  as  the  humble  and 
united  worshippers  of  God,  this  stern  messenger,  this 
mysterious  agent  of  Omnipotence,  has  come  among  our 
numbers,  and  laid  his  withering  hand  on  one,  whom  wo 

30  have  been  taught  to  honor  and  respect,  whose  fame  \vna  a 
nation's  boast,  whose  genius  was  a  brilliant  spark  from 
the  ethereal  fire,  whose  attainments  were  equalled  only 
by  the  grasp  of  his  intellect,  the  profoundness  of  his  judg- 

'     ment,  the  exuberance  of  his  fancy,  the  magic  of  his  elo' 

B5  quenc9.  


FART   II.]  KBADER   AND   SPEAKER.  229 

A 

LESSON    CVI. — REFORM   IN    MORALS. DR.  BEECIIER. 

The  crisis  has  come.  By  the  people  of  this  generation, 
by  ourselves,  probably,  the  amazin<^  question  is  to  be 
decided,  whether  the  inheritance  of  oar  fathers  shall  be 
preserved  or  thrown  away ;  whether  our  Sabbaths  shall 
6  be  a  delight  or  a  loathing;  whether  the  taverns,  on  that 
holy  day,  shall  be  crowded  with  drunkards,  or  the  sanctu- 
ary of  God,  with  humble  worshippers ;  whether  riot  and 
profaneness  shall  fill  our  streets,  and  poverty  our  dwell- 
ings, and  convicts   our  jails,  and  violence  our  land,   or 

10  whether  industry,  and  temperance,  and  righteousness,  shall 
be  the  stability  of  our  times ;  whether  mild  laws  shall 
receive  the  cheerful  submission  of  freemen,  or  the  iron  rod 
of  a  tyrant  compel  the  trembling  homage  of  slaves.  Be 
not  deceived.     Human  nature  in  this  state  is  like  human 

15  nature  everyAvhere.  All  actual  difference  in  our  favor  is 
adventitious,  and  the  result  of  our  laws,  institutions,  and 
habits.  It  is  a  moral  influence,  which,  with  the  blessing 
of  God,  has  formed  a  state  of  society  so  eminently  desir- 
able.    The  same  influence  which  has  formed  it,  is  indis- 

20  pensable  to  its  preservation.  The  rocks  and  hills  of  New 
England  will  remain  until  the  last  conflagration.  But  let 
the  Sabbath  be  profaned  with  impunity,  the  worship  of 
God  be  abandoned,  the  government  and  religious  instruc- 
tion of  children  neglected,  and  the  streams  of  intemperance 

25  be  permitted  to  flow,  and  her  glory  will  depart.  The  wall 
of  fire  will  no  more  surround  her,  and  the  munition  of 
rocks  will  no  longer  be  her  defence. 

If  we  neglect  our  duty,  and  suffer  our  laws  and  institu- 
tions to  go  down,  we  give  them  up  forever.     It  is  easy  to 

30  relax,  easy^  to  retreat,  but  impossible,  when  the  abomina- 
tion of  desolation  has  once  passed  over  New  England,  to 
rear  again  the  thrown  down  altars,  and  gather  again  the 
fragments,  and  build  up  the  ruins  of  demolished  institu- 
tions.    Another  New  England,  nor  we,  nor  our  children, 

35  shall  ever  see,  if  this  be  destroyed.  All  is  lost  irretriev- 
ably, when  the  land-marks  are  once  removed,  and  the 
bands  which  now  hold  us,  are  once  broken.  Such  insti- 
tutions, and  such  a  state  of  society,  can  be  established 
only  by  such  men  as  our  fathers  were,  and  in  such  cir- 

40  cumstances  as  they  were  in.  They  could  not  have  made 
a  New  England  in  Holland.  They  made  the  attempt,  but 
failed. 

20 


230  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART   11 

The  hand  that  overturns  our  laws  and  altars,  is  the 
hand  of  death,  unbarring  the  gate  of  Pandemonium,  and 
letting  loose  upon  our  land  the  crimes  and  the  miseries 
of  hell.  If  the  Most  High  should  stand  aloof,  and  cast 
5  not  a  single  ingredient  into  our  cup  of  trembling,  it  would 
seem  to  be  full  of  superlative  woe.  But  He  will  not  stand 
aloof.  As  we  shall  have  begun  an  open  controversy  with 
Him,  He  will  contend  openly  with  us.  And  never,  since 
the  earth  stood,  has  it  been  so  fearful  a  thing  for  nations 

10  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God.  The  day  of  ven- 
geance is  in  His  heart,  the  day  of  judgment  has  come ; 
the  great  earthquake  which  sinks  Babylon  is  shaking  the 
nations,  and  the  waves  of  the  mighty  commotion  are  dash- 
ing upon  every  shore.     Ls  this  then  a  time  to  remove 

15  foundations,  when  the  earth  itself  in  shaken  ?  Is  this  a 
time  to  forfeit  the  protection  of  God,  when  the  hearts  of 
men  are  failing  them  for  fear,  and  for  looking  after  those 
things  which  are  coming  on  the  earth  ?  Is  this  a  time  to 
run  upon  His  neck  and  the  thick  bosses  of  His  buckler, 

20  when  the  nations  are  drinking  blood,  and  fainting,  and 
passing  away  in  His  wrath  ?  Is  this  a  time  to  throw  away 
the  shield  of  faith,  when  His  arrows  are  drunk  with  the 
blood  of  the  slain  ?  To  cut  from  the  anchor  of  hope,  wlun 
the  clouds  are  collecting,  and  the  sea  and  the  waves  are  roar- 

25  ing,  and  thunders  are  uttering  their  voices,  and  lightnin^^*^ 
blazing  in  the  heavens,  and  the  great  hail  is  falling  fr<nn 
heaven  upon  men,  and  every  mountain,  sea,  and  island 
is  fleeing  in  dismay,  from  the  face  of  an  incensed  God  ? 


10 


LESSON  CVIL — THE  CHILD  OF  THE  TOMB; — ^A  STORY  OF  NEW 
BURVPORT. WM.  B.  TAPPAN. 

The  following  fact  is  found  in  Knapp's  "Life  of  Lord  Dfxter.** 

Where  Whitefield  sleeps,  remembered,  in  the  dust, 
The  lowly  vault  held  once  a  double  trust ; 
And  Parsons,  reverend  name,  that  quiet  tomb  ^ 

Possessed, — to  wait  the  day  of  weal  and  doom.  ? 

Another  servant  of  the  living  God,  / 

Prince,  who,  (bereft  of  sight,)  his  way  had  trod,         ^ 
Unerringly  and  safe,  life*s  journey  through, —  ? 

Now  sought  admittance  to  these  slumberers  too.  ^ 

As  earth  receded,  and  the  mansions  blest  .^J 

Rose  on  his  vision, — "  Let  my  body  rest  ^Hp 


PA.TIT    II.j  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  231 

With  Whitefield's," — said  he,  yielding  up  his  breath, 
In  life  beloved,  and  not  disjoined  in  death. 
Obedient  to  his  wish,  in  order  then 
Were  all  things  done  ;  the  tomb  was  oped  to  ken 
Of  curious  eyes, — made  ready  to  enclose 
Another  tenant  in  its  hushed  repose  : 
And,  lighted  with  a  single  lamp,  whose  ray 
Fell  dimly  down  upon  the  mouldering  clay, 
Was  left,  prepared,  to  silence  as  of  night, 
10  Till  hour  appointed  for  the  funeral  rite. 

It  chanced,  the  plodding  teacher  of  a  school, — 
A  man  of  whim,  bold,  reckless,  yet  no  fool, — 
Deemed  this  an  opportunity  to  test 
How  far  the  fears  of  spirits  might  infest 
15  The  bosom  of  a  child.     A  'likely'  boy, 
The  choicest  of  his  flock,  a  mother's  joy. 
He  took,  unscrupulous  of  means,  if  he 
His  ends  might  gain,  and  solve  the  mystery. 

Both  stood  within  the  mansion  of  the  dead, 
20  And  while  the  stripling  mused,  the  teacher  fled. 

Leaving  the  child,  where  the  dull  cresset  shone, 

With  the  dumb  relics  and  his  God  alone. 

As  the  trap-door  fell  suddenly,  the  stroke, 

Sullen  and  harsh,  his  solemn  revery  broke. 
25  Where  is  he  ? — Barred  within  the  dreadful  womb 

Of  the  cokl  eartli, — the  living  in  the  tomb! 

The  opened  cofluis -showed  Death's  doings,  sad, — 

The  awful  dust  in  damps  and  grave-mould  clad. 

Though  near  the  haunt  of  busy,  cheerful  day, 
30  He,  to  drear  night  anci  solitude  the  prey ! 

Must  he  be  watcher  with  these  corpses  ! — Who 

Can  tell  what  sights  may  rise?     Will  reason  then  be  true? 
-Must  he, — a  blooming,  laughter-loving  child, — 

Be  mated  thus  ? — The  thought  was  cruel,  wild  ! 
35  His  knees  together  smote,  as  first,  in  fear. 

He  gazed  around  his  prison  ; — then  a  tear 

Sprang  to  his  eyes  in  kind  relief;  and  said 

The  little  boy,  ''I  will  rwt  he  afraid. 

Was  ever  spirit  of  the  good  man  kriotvn 
40    To  iyijure  children  lohom  it  found  alone  ?" 

A'ld  straicfht  he  taxed  his  memory,  u»  supply 

Stories  and  texts,  to  show  he  might  rely 


833  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCnOOL  [PAIT   XX, 

Most  safely,  humbly,  on  his  Father's  care, — 
Who  hears  a  child's,  as  well  as  prelate's,  prayer. 
And  thus  he  stood,^-on  Whitefield's  form  his  glance 
In  reverence  fixed, — and  hoped  deliverance. 

S      Meanwhile,  the  recreant  teacher, — where  was  he  ? 

Gone  in  effrontery  to  take  his  tea 
With  the  lad's  mother ! — Supper  ^onc,  he  told 
The  feat  that  should  display  her  son  as  bold. 
With  eye  indignant,  and  with  words  of  flame, 

10  How  showers  that  mother's  scorn,  rebuke,  and  shame 
And  bids  him  haste !  and  hastes  herself,  to  bring 
Him  from  Death's  realm,  who  knew  not  yet  its  sling : 
And  yet  believed, — so  well  her  son  she  knew, — 
The  noble  boy  would  to  himself  be  true  : 

15  He  would  sustain  himself,  and  she  would  hud 

Him  patient  and  possessed,  she  trusted  well  his  mind. 

The  boy  yet  lives, — and  from  that  distant  hour 
Dates  much  of  truth  that  on  his  heart  hath  power;— 
And  chiefly  this, — whate'er  of  wit  is  wed 
20  To  word  of  his, — to  reverence  the  dead. 


LESSON   CVIII. LOVE    AND   FAME. — II.  T.  TUCKERMAN. 

Give  me  the  boon  of  Love  ! 
I  ask  no  more  for  fame  ; 
Far  better  one  unpurchased  heart 
Than  Glory's  proudest  name. 
6  Why  wake  a  fever  in  the  blood, 

Or  damp  the  spirit  now, 
To  gain  a  wreath  whose  leaves  shall  ware 
Above  a  withered  brow  ? 

Give  me  the  boon  of  Love ! 
10  Ambition's  meed  is  vain  ; 

Dearer  Affection's  earnest  smile 

Than  Honor's  richest  train. 

I  'd  rather  lean  upon  a  breast  j 

Responsive  to  my  own,  f 

16  Than  sit  pavilioned  gorgeously  ^ 

Upon  a  kingly  throne.  ^ 

Like  the  Chaldean  sage, 
Fame's  worshippers  adore 


PART   II.]  HEADER    AND   SPFAKER.  233 

The  brilliant  orbs  that  scatter  light 
O'er  heaven's  azure  floor  ; 
Bat  in  their  very  hearts  enshrined, 
The  votaries  of  Love 
5  Keep  e'er  the  holy  flame,  which  once 

Illumed  the  courts  above. 

Give  me  the  boon  of  Love  ! 
Renown  is  but  a  breath, 
Whose  loudest  echo  ever  floats 
10  From  out  the  halls  of  death. 

A  loving  eye  beguiles  me  more 
Than  Fame's  emblazoned  seal, 
And  one  sweet  tone  of  tenderness 
Than  Triumph's  wildest  peal. 

15  Give  me  the  boon  of  Love  ! 

The  path  of  Fame  is  drear, 

And  Glory's  arch  doth  ever  span 
.  A  hill-side  cold  and  sere. 

One  wild  flower  from  the  path  of  Love, 
20  All  lowly  though  it  lie. 

Is  dearer  than  the  wreath  that  waves 

To  stern  Ambition's  eye. 

Give  me  the  boon  of  Love  ! 

The  lamp  of  Fame  shines  far, 
25  But  Love's  soft  light  glows  near  and  wann,— 

A  pure  and  household  star. 

One  tender  glance  can  fill  the  soul 

With  a  perennial  fire  ; 

But  Glory's  flame  burns  fitfully, — 
30  A  lone,  funereal  pyre. 

Give  me  the  boon  of  Love  ! 
Fame's  trumpet-strains  depart, 
But  Love's  sweet  lute  breathes  melody 
That  lingers  in  the  heart ;  % 

35  And  the  scroll  of  fame  will  burn, 

When  sea  and  earth  consume ; 
But  the  rose  of  Love,  in  a  happier  sphere 
Will  live  in  deathless  bloom ! 
20* 


101  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  U. 

LESSON  CIX. ^LAMENTATION  OF  REBECCA  THE  JEWESS. — G.  LUNT 

If  I  had  Jubal's  chorded  shell, 

O'er  which  the  first-born  music  rolled, 
In  burning  tones,  that  loved  to  dwell 

Amongst  those  wires  of  trembling  gold; 
6  If  to  my  soul  one  note  were  given 

Of  that  high  harp,  whose  sweeter  tone 
Caught  its  majestic  strain  from  heaven. 

And  glowed  like  fire  round  IsraePs  throne  . 
Up  to  the  deep  blue  starry  sky 
10  Then  might  my  soul  aspire,  and  hold 

Communion  fervent,  strong  and  high. 

With  bard  and  king,  and  prophet  old: 
Then  might  my  spirit  dare  to  trace 

The  path  our  ancient  people  trod, 
15  When  the  gray  sires  of  Jacob's  race. 

Like  faithful  servants,  walked  with  God ! 

But  Israel's  song,  alas  !  is  hushed. 

That  all  her  tales  of  triumph  told. 
And  mute  is  every  voice,  that  gushed 
20  In  music  to  her  harps  of  gold  ; 

And  could  my  lyre  attune  its  string 

To  lofty  themes  they  loved  of  yore, 
Alas !  my  lips  could  only  sing 

All  that  we  were  but  are  no  more  ! 
25  Our  hearts  are  still  by  Jordan's  stream. 

And  there  our  footsteps  fain  would  be ; 
But  oh  !  *t  is  like  the  captive's  dream 
Of  home,  his  eyes  may  never  see. 
A  cloud  is  on  our  fathers*  graves, 
30  And  darkly  spreads  o'er  Zion's  hill, 

And  there  their  sons  must  stand  as  slaves, 
Or  roam  like  houseless  wanderers  still. 

Yet  where  the  rose  of  Sharon  blooms, 
And  cedars  wave  the  stately  head, 
35  Even  now,  from  out  the  place  of  tombs, 

Breaks  a  deep  voice  that  stirs  the  dead. 
Through  the  wide  world's  tumultuous  roar, 
Floats  clear  and  sweet  the  solenm  word,- 
"O  virgin  daughter,  faint  no  more ; 
10  Thy  tears  are  seen,  thy  prayers  are  heard 

What  though,  with  spirits  crushed  and  broke» 
Thy  tribes  like  desert  cxUe&  rove, 


I 


fAKT   n.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  235 

Though  Judah  feels  the  stranger's  yolte, 
And  Ephraim  is  a  lieartless  dove  ? — 
Yet, — yet  shall  Judah's  lion  wake, 
Yet  shall  the  day  of  promise  come. 
6  Thy  sons  from  iron  bondage  break, 

And  God  shall  lead  the  wanderers  home ! " 


LESSON  ex. TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. GRENVILLE  MELLEN. 

Wake  your  harp's  music  ! — louder, — higher, 
And  pour  your  strains  along ; 
And  smite  again  each  quivering  wire. 
In  all  the  pride  of  song  ! 
5         Shout  like  those  godlike  men  of  old, 
Who,  daring  storm  and  foe, 
On  this  blest  soil  their  anthem  rolled, 
Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 

From  native  shores  by  tempests  driven, 
1-0         They  sought  a  purer  sky, 

And  found,  beneath  a  milder  heaven. 

The  home  of  liberty ! 

An  altar  rose, — and  prayers, — a  ray 

Broke  on  their  night  of  wee, — 
15         The  harbinger  of  Freedom's  day. 

Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 

They  clung  around  that  symbol  too. 
Their  refuge  and  their  all ; 
And  swore,  while  skies  and  waves  were  blue, 
20         That  altar  should  not  flill. 

They  stood  upon -the  red  man's  sod, 
'Neath  heaven's  unpillared  bow, 
With  home, — a  country,  and  a  God, 
Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 

25         Oh  !  't  was  a  hard  unyielding  fate 

That  drove  them  to  the  seas, 

And  Persecution  strove  with  Hate, 

To  darken  her  decrees  : 

But  safe  above  each  coral  grave, 
30         Each  blooming  ship  did  go, — 

A  God  was  on  the  western  wave, 

Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 


836  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAIT  U 

They  knelt  them  on  the  desert  sand, 
By  waters  cold  and  rude, 
Alone  upon  the  dreary  strand 
Of  oceaned  solitude  ! 
6         They  looked  upon  the  high  blue  air, 
And  felt  theirspirits  glow, 
Resolved  to  live  or  perish  there, — 
Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 

The  warrior's  red  right  arm  was  bared, 
10         His  eyes  flashed  deep  and  wild  : 

Was  there  a  foreign  footstep  dared 

To  seek  his  home  and  child? 

The  dark  chiefs  yelled  alarm, — and  swore 

The  white  man's  blood  should  flow, 
15         And  his  hewn  bones  should  bleach  their  shore, — 

Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 

But  lo  !  the  warrior's  eye  grew  dim. 
His  arm  was  left  alone, — 
The  still,  black  wilds  which  sheltered  him, 
20         No  longer  were  his  own  ! 

Time  fled, — and  on  the  hallowed  ground 
His  highest  pine  lies  low, — 
And  cities  swell  where  forests  frowned, 
Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 

25         Oh  !  stay  not  to  recount  the  tale, — 

'T  was  bloody, — and  't  is  past ; 

The  firmest  cheek  might  well  grow  pale, 

To  hear  it  to  the  last. 

The  God  of  heaven,  who  prospers  us, 
30         Could  bid  a  nation  grow. 

And  shield  us  from  the  red  man's  curse. 

Two  hundred  years  ago ! 

Come  then, — great  shades  of  glorious  men, 

From  your  still  glorious  grave ; 
35         Look  on  your  own  proud  land  again, 

O  bravest  of  the  brave  ! 

We  call  you  from  each  mouldering  tomb. 

And  each  blue  wave  below, 

To  bless  the  world  ye  snatched  from  doom 
40        Two  hundred  years  ago  ! 


PART   U.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  237 

Then  to  your  harps, — yet  louder, — higher, 
And  pour  your  strains  along, — 
And  smite  again  each  quivering  wire, 
In  all  the  pride  of  song  ! 
6  Shout  for  those  godlike  men  of  old, 

Who,  daring  storm  and  foe. 
On  this  blest  soil  their  anthem  rolled. 
Two  hundred  years  ago ! 


LESSON  CXI. THE    STAGE. CHARLES    SPRAGUE. 

Lo,  where  the  Stage,  the  poor,  degraded  Stage, 
Holds  its  warped  mirror  to  a  gaping  age ; 
There, — where,  to  raise  the  drama's  moral  tone, 
Fool  Harlequin  usurps  Apollo's  throne; 
5     There, — where  grown  children  gather  round  to  praise 
The  new-vamped  legends  of  their  nursery  days ; 
Where  one  loose  scene  shall  turn  more  souls  to  shame, 
Than  ten  of  Channing's  lectures  can  reclaim; 
There, — where  in  idiot  rapture  we  adore 

10     The  herded  vagabonds  of  every  shore  ; 

Women,  unsexed,  who,  losfto  woman's  pride. 
The  drunkard's  stagger  ape,  the  bully's  stride; 
Pert,  lisping  girls,  who,  still  in  childhood's  fetters, 
Babble  of  love,  yet  barely  know  their  letters ; 

15     Neat-jointed  mummers,  mocking  nature's  shape. 
To  prove  how  nearly  man  can  match  an  ape ; 
Vaulters,  who,  rightly  served  at  home,  perchance 
Had  dangled  from  the  rope  on  which  they  dance ; 
Dwarfs,  mimics,  jugglers,  all  that  yield  content, 

20     Where  Sin  holds  carnival,  and  Wit  keeps  lent; 
Where,  shoals  on  shoals,  the  modest  million  rush, 
One  sex  to  laugh,  aud  one  to  try  to  blush. 
When  mincing  Ravenot  sports  tight  pantalettes, 
And  turns  fops'  heads  while  turning  pirouettes ; 

25     There,  at  each  ribald  sally,  where  we  hear 
The  knowing  giggle  and  the  scurrile  jeer, 
While  from  the  intellectual  gallery  first 
Rolls  the  base  plaudit,  loudest  at  the  worst. 

Gods !  who  can  grace  yon  desecrated  dome, 
30     Wlien  he  may  turn  his  Shakspeare  o'er  at  home  ? 
Who  there  can  group  the  pure  ones  of  his  race. 
To  see  and  hear  what  bids  him  veil  his  face  ? 


238  •  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  [PART 

Ask  ye  who  can ?  why,  I,  and  you,  and  you: 
No  matter  what  the  nonsense,  if  't  is  new. 
To  Dr.  Logic's  wit  our  sons  give  ear ; 
They  have  no  lime  for  Hamlet,  or  for  Lear; 
5     Our  daughters  turn  from  gentle  Juliet's  woe, 
To  count  the  twirls  of  Almaviva's  toe. 

Not  theirs  the  blame  who  furnish  forth  the  treat, 
But  ours,  who  throng  the  board,  and  grossly  eat. 
We  laud,  indeed,  the  virtue-kindling  Stage, 
10     And  prate  ofShakspeare  and  his  deathless  page; 
But  go,  announce  his  best,  on  Cooper  call, 
Cooper,  **  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all ;" 
Where  are  the  crowds  so  wont  to  choke  the  door  ? 
'T  is  an  old  thing,  they  *ve  seen  it  all  before. 

15         Pray  Heaven,  if  yet  indeed  the  Stage  must  stand, 

With  guiltless  mirth  it  may  delight  the  land ; 

Far  better  else  each  scenic  temple  fall. 

And  one  approving  silence  curtain  all. 

Despots  to  shame  may  yield  their  rising  youth, 
20     But  Freedom  dwells  with  purity  and  truth. 

Then  make  the  effort,  ye  who  rule  the  Stage, — 

With  novel  decency  surprise  the  age ; 

Even  Wit,  so  long  forgot,  may  play  its  part. 

And  Nature  yet  have  power  to  melt  the  heart ;      ^^m    h 
25     Perchance  the  listeners,  to  their  instinct  true,         fl^|  f 

May  fancy  common  sense, — *t  were  surely  Something  Wew. 


LESSON   CXII. — THE    BURIAL-PLACE    AT   LAUREL   HILL.- 
W.  G.  CLARK. 

Here  the  lamented  dead  in  dust  shall  lie, 

Life's  lingering  languors  o'er,  its  labors  done ; 

Where  waving  boughs,  betwixt  the  earth  and  sky, 
Admit  the  farewell  radiance  of  the  sun. 

5     Here  the  long  concourse  from  the  murmuring  town, 
With  funeral  face  and  slow,  shall  enter  in ; 
To  lay  the  loved  in  tranquil  silence  down, 
No  more  to  suffer,  o,nd  no  more  to  sin. 

And  in  this  hallowed  spot,  where  Nature  showers 
10         Her  summer  .smiles  from  fair  and  stainless  skies, 
Affection's  hand  may  strew  her  dewy  flowers, 
Whose  fragrant  incense  from  the  grave  shall  rise. 


PIRT   II.J  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  239 

And  here  the  impressive  stone,  engraved  witli  words 
Which  grief  sententious  gives  to  marble  pale, 

Shall  teach  the  heart;  while  waters,  leaves,  and  birds. 
Make  cheerful  music  in  the  passing  gale. 

5     Say,  wherefore  should  we  weep,  and  wherefore  pour 
On  scented  airs  the  unavailing  sigh, — 
While  sun-bright  waves  are  quivering  to  the  shore. 
And  landscapes  blooming, — that  the  loved  must  die  ? 

There  is  an  emblem  in  this  peaceful  scene : 
10         Soon  rainbow  colors  on  the  woods  will  fall ; 
And  autumn  gusts  bereave  the  hills  of  green, 
As  sinks  the  year  to  meet  its  cloudy  pall. 

Then,  cold  and  pale,  in  distant  vistas  round, 

Disrobed  and  tuneless,  all  the  woods  will  stand ; 
15     While  the  chained  streams  are  silent  as  the  ground, 
As  Death  had  numbed  them  with  his  icy  hand. 

Yet  when  the  warm  soft  winds  shall  rise  in  spring, 
Like  struggling  day-beams  o'er  a  blasted  heath. 
The  bird  returned  shall  poise  her  golden  wing, 
20         And  liberal  Nature  break  the  spell  of  Death. 

So,  when  the  tomb's  dull  silence  finds  an  end, 
The  blessed  dead  to  endless  youth  shall  rise  ; 

And  hear  th'  archangel's  thrilling  summons  blend 
Its  tone  with  anthems  from  the  upper  skies. 

25     There  shall  the  good  of  earth  be  found  at  last. 

Where  dazzling  streams  and  vernal  fields  expand, 
Where  Love  her  crown  attains, — her  trials  past, — 
And,  filled  with  rapture,  hails  *'  the  better  land  !'* 


LESSON    CXIII. — THE    GOOD   WIFE. — GEORGE  W.  BURNAP. 

"The  good  wife!"  How  much  of  this  world's  happi- 
ness and  prosperity,  is  contained  in  the  compass  of  these 
two  short  words  !  Her  influence  is  immense.  The  power 
of  a  wife,  for  good,  or  for  evil,  is  altogether  irresistible. 
5  Home  must  be  the  seat  of  happiness,  or  it  must  be  forever 
unknown.  A  good  wife  is,  to  a  man,  wisdom,  and  courage, 
and  strength,  and  hope,  and  endurance.  A  bad  one  is 
confusion,  weakness,  discomfiture,  despair.  No  condition 
is  hopeless,  when  the  wife  possesses  firmness,  decision, 
10  en«rr^y,  economy.     There  is  no  outward  prosperity  which 


240  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  II 

can  counteract  indolence,  folly,  and  extravagance  at  home. 
No  spirit  can  long  resist  bad  domestic  influences. 

Man  is  strong ;  but  his  heart  is  not  adamant.  He  do 
lights  in  enterprise  and  action  ;  but,  to  sustain  him,  he 
6  needs  a  tranquil  mind,  ahd  a  whole  heart.  He  expends 
his  whole  moral  force,  in  the  conflicts  of  the  world.  His 
feelings  are  daily  lacerated,  to  the  utmost  point  of  endur- 
an«e,  by  perpetual  collision,  irritation,  and  disappointment. 
To  recover  his  equanimity  and  composure,  home  must  l>e 

10  to  him  a  place  of  repose,  of  peace,  of  cheerfulness,  of  com- 
fort ;  and  his  soul  renews  its  strength,  and  again  goes  forth, 
with  fresh  vigor,  to  encounter  the  labors  and  troubles  of 
the  world.  But  if  at  home  he  find  no  rest,  and  there  is 
met  by  a  bad  temper,  suUcnness,  or  gloom  ;  or  is  assailed 

15  by  discontent,  complaint,  and  reproaches,  the  heart  breaks, 
the  spirits  are  crushed,  hope  vanishes,  and  the  man  sinks 
into  total  despair. 

Let  woman  know,  then,  that  she  ministers  at  the  very 
fountain  of  life  and  happiness.     It  is  her  hand  that  lades 

SO  out,  with  overflowing  cup,  its  soul-refreshing  waters,  or 
casts  in  the  branch  of  bitterness,  which  makes  them  poison 
and  death.  Her  ardent  spirit  breathes  the  breath  of  life 
into  all  enterprise.  Her  patience  and  constancy  are  mainly 
instrumental,  in  carrying  forward,  to  completion,  the  best 

^5  human  designs.  Her  more  delicate  moral  sensibility  is 
the  unseen  power  which  is  ever  at  work  to  purify  and 
refine  society.  And  the  nearest  glimpse  of  heaven  th.it 
mortals  ever  get  on  earth,  is  that  domestic  circle,  which 
her  hands  have  trained  to  intelligence,  virtue  and  love, 

30  which  her  gentle  influence  pervades,  and  of  which  her 
radiant  presence  is  the  centre  and  the  sun. 

LESSON   CXIV. A   GOOL   DATTonTEIl. — J.  G.  PALFREY. 

A  good  daughter! — there  are  other  ministries  o(  love, 
more  conspicuous  than  hers,  but  none,  in  which  a  gentler, 
lovelier  spirit  dwells,  and  none,  to  which  the  heart's  warm 
requitals  more  joyfully  respond. — There  is  no  such  thinir, 
5  as  a  comparative  estimate  of  a  parent's  aflfection,  for  on<; 
or  another  child.  There  is  little  which  he  needs  to  covet, 
to  whom  the  treasure  of  a  good  child  has  been  given.  Bui 
a  son's  occupations  and  pleasures  carry  him  more  abroad  ; 
and  he  lives  more  among  temptations,  which  hardly  per- 
10  mit  the  aflection  that  is  following  him  perhaps  over  half 


FART   n.]  READER   AND   SPEAkKH.  241 

the  globe,  to  be  wholly  unmingled  with  anxiety,  till  the 
time  when  he  comes  to  relinquish  the  shelter  of  his  Cather'a 
roof,  for  one  of  his  own ;  while  a  good  daughter  is  the 
steady  light  of  her  parent's  house. 
5  Her  idea  is  indissolubly  connected  with  that  of  his 
happy  fireside.  She  is  liis  mornmg  sun-light,  and  his 
evening  star.  The  grace,  and  vivacity,  and  tenderness  of 
her  sex,  have  their  place  in  the  mighty  sway  which  she 
holds  over  his  spirit.     The  lessons  of  recorded  wisdom 

10  which  he  reads  with  her  eyes,  come  to  his  mind  with  a 
new  charm,  as  they  blend  with  the  beloved  melody  of  her 
voice.  He  scarcely  knows  weariness  which  her  song  does 
not  make  him  forget,  or  gloom  which  is  proof  against  the 
young  brightness  of  her  smile.    She  is  the  pride  and  orna- 

15  ment  of  his  hospitality,  and  the  gentle  nurse  of  his  sick- 
ness, and  the  constant  agent  in  those  nameless,  numberless 
acts  of  kindness,  which  one  chiefly  cares  to  have  rendered, 
because  they  are  unpretending  but  all-expressive  proofs 
of  love. 

20  And  then  what  a  cheerful  sharer  is  she,  and  what  an 
able  lightener  of  a  mother's  cares !  what  an  ever  present 
delight  and  triumph  to  a  mother's  aflTection !  Oh !  how 
little  do  those  daughters  know  of  the  power  which  God 
has  committed  to  them,  and  the  happiness  God  would  have 

25  them  enjoy,  who  do  not,  every  time  that  a  parent's  eye 
rests  on  them,  bring  rapture  to  a  parent's  heart.  A  true 
love  will,  almost  certainly,  always  greet  their  approaching 
steps.  That  they  will  hardly  alienate.  But  their  ambition 
should  be,  not  to  have  it  a  love  merely  which   feelings 

30  implanted  by  nature  excite,  but  one  made  intense,  and 
overflowing,  by  approbation  of  worthy  conduct;  and  she 
is  strangely  blind  to  her  own  happiness,  as  well  as  unduti- 
ful  to  them  to  whom  she  owes  the  most,  in  whom  the 
perpetual  appeals  of  parental  disinterestedness,  do  not  call 

15  forth  the  prompt  and  full  echo  of  filial  devotion. 


LESSON    CXV. RELIGION    THE    GUARDIAN   OF   TUB    SOUL. — 

ORVILLE    DEWEY. 

One  of  the  circumstances  of  our  moral  condition,  is 
danger.     Religion,  then,  should  be  a  guardian,  and  a  vigi- 
lant guardian  ;  and  let  us  be  assured  that  the  Gospel  is 
such.    Such  emphatically  do  ^ye  need.     If  we  cannot  bear 
5  a  religion  that  admonishes  us,  watches  over  us,  warns  ua, 
21 


212  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART   IL 

restrains  us ;  lot  us  be  assured  that  we  cannot  bear  a  reli- 

.gion  that  will  save  us.     Religion  should  l>o  ihe  keeper  of 

the  soul;  and  without  such  a  keeper,  in  the  sio^r  nnd 

undermining  process  of  temptation,  or  amidst  the  sudden 

5  and  strong  assaults  of  passion,  it  will  be  overcome  and  lost. 

Again,  the  human  condition  is  one  of  weakness.    There 

are  weak   points,  where  religion  should  be   stationed  to 

support  and  strengthen  us.    Points,  did  I  say  ?    Are  we  no 

encompassed  with  weakness  ?    Where,  in  the  whole  circle 

10  of  our  spiritual  interests  and  alTcctions,  are  we  not  exposed, 
and  vulnerable  ?  Where  have  we  not  need  to  set  up  the 
barriers  of  habit,  and  to  build  the  strongest  defences,  with 
which  resolutions,  and  vows,  and  prayers,  can  surround 
us  ?     Where,  and  wherein,  I  ask  again,  is  any  man  safe  ? 

15  What  virtue  of  any  man,  is  secure  from  frailty  ?  What 
strong  purpose  of  his,  is  not  liable  to  failure  ?  Wliai 
affection  of  his  heart  can  say,  "I  have  strength,  I  am  estab- 
lished, and  nothing  can  move  me  ?" 

How  weak  is  man  in  trouble,  in  perplexity,  in  doubt ; — 

20  how  weak  in  affliction,  or  when  sickness  bows  the  spirit, 
or  when  approaching  death  is  unloosing  all  the  bands  of 
his  pride  and  self-reliance !  And  whose  spirit  does  not 
sometimes  faint  under  its  intriTisic  weakness,  under  its 
tiative  frailty,  and  the  burthen  and  pressure  of  its  necessi- 

25  ties  ?  Religion,  then,  should  bring  supply,  and  support, 
and  strength  to  the  soul ;  and  the  Gospel  does  bring  supply, 
and  support,  and  strength.  And  it  thus  meets  a  universal 
want.  Every  mind  needs  the  stability  which  principle 
gives ;  needs  the  comfort  which  piety  gives  ;  needs  it  cou- 

30  tinually,  in  all  the  varying  experience  of  life. 


LESSON    CXVI. — FEATURES    OF    A^rERICAN    SCENERY. TUDOU 

Our  numerous  waterfalls,  the  enchanting  beauty  of 
Lake  George  and  its  pellucid  flood,  of  Lake  Champlaiii, 
and  the  lesser  lakes,  afford  many  objects  of  the  most 
picturesque  character;  while  the  inland  seas,  from  Suj)e- 
5  rior  to  Ontario,  and  that  astounding  cataract,  whose  r(Kir 
would  hardly  be  increased  by  the  united  murmurs  of  all 
the  cascades  of  Europe,  are  calculated  to  inspire  vast  ntid 
sublime  conceptions.  The  effects,  too,  of  our  climnte, 
compoeed  of  a  Siberian  winter,  and  an  Italian  sum.ri' r, 
10  furnish  new  and  peculiar  objects,  for  description.     Tiii 


PART    II.]  READEil    AND   SPEAKER.  243 

circumstances  of  remote  regions  are  here  DlendeJ,  and^  . 
strikingly  opposite  appearances  witnessed^,  mth^ijpfctf^ 
spot,  at  uiflerent  seasons  of  the  year.  In  ourwm^rsTwe 
have  the  sun  at  the  same  ahitude  as  in  Italy,  shining 
5  on  an  unlimited  surface  of  snow,  which  can  only  be  found 
in  the  higher  latitudes  of  Europe,  where  the  sun,  in  the 
winter,  rises  little  above  the  horizon.  The  dazzling  brill- 
iancy of  a  winter's  day,  and  a  moonlight  night,  in  an 
atmosphere    astonishingly    clear    and    frosty,    when    the 

10  utmost  splendor  of  the  sky  is  reflected  from  a  surface  of 
spotless  white,  attended  with  the  most  excessive  cold,  is 
peculiar  to  the  northern  part  of  the  United  States. 
What,  too,  can  surpass  the  celestial  purity  and  transpa- 
rency of  the  atmosphere,  in  a  fine  autumnal  day,  when  our 

15  vision,  and  our  thought,  seem  carried  to  the  third  heaven ; 
the  gorgeous  magnificence  of  the  close,  when  the  sua 
sinks  from  our  view,  surrounded  with  various  masses  of 
clouds,  fringed  with  gold  and  purple,  and  reflecting,  in 
evanescent  tints,  all  the  hues  of  the  rainbow. 


LESSON  CXVII. STUDY    OF    HUMAN    NATURE    ESSENTIAL   TO   ▲ 

TEACIIEK. G.  B.  EMERSON. 

If  you  were  about  to  engage,  in  a  capacity  higher  than 
that  of  a  day  laborer,  in  any  other  pursuit  than  that  of 
teaching,  would  you  not  set  yourself  at  once  to  under- 
stand what  was  the  object  which  you  should  endeavor  to 
5  have  in  view,  and  what  the  machinery  by  which  you 
could  attain  it?  If  you  were  going  to  manufacture  wool- 
len goods,  you  would  wish  to  understand  the  nature  of 
the  raw  material,  the  processes  and  machinery  by  which 
it  is  to  be  actfed  on,  and  to  judge  of  the  quality  of  the 

10  article  you  wished  to  produce.  Will  you  do  less,  when 
the  mechanism  with  which  you  are  to  operate  is  the  work 
of  an  Infinite  Architect  ?  and  the  web  to  be  woven  is  the 
rich  and  varied  fabric  of  human  character  ? 

If  you  were  about  to  engage  in  agriculture,  you  would 

15  take  care  to  inform  yourself  as  to  the  nature  of  the  soil, 
its  adaptation  to  the  various  kinds  of  grain  and  vegeta- 
bles, and  the  season  of  the  year,  at  which,  in  this  climate, 
it  is  most  proper  to  prepare  the  ground,  to  plough,  to  sow 
the  seed,  and  to  reap  and  gather  into  the  barn.     Will  you 

20  take  less  cart/,  when  the  soil  is  the  human  soul,  the  seed 


944  AMEKICAl<r    COUMON-SCIIOOL  [PART   IL 

is  the  word  of  life,  the  harvest,  iht  end  cf  the  world,  and 
ttt^  J|{^pers,  angels  ? 

If  you  were  going  to  navigiuc  liic  ocean,  you  would 
wish  to  know  how  to  judge  of  the  ship,  to  sail  and  steer, 
6  you  would  inquire  about  the  currents  that  would  set  you 
from  your  course,  and  the  winds  that  should  bear  you 
onward ;  you  would  learn  to  trace  the  moon's  course 
among  the  stars,  and  to  look  aloft  to  the  sun  in  his  path, 
that  you  might  not  drift  at  random  on  the  broad  sea,  but 

10  speed  towards  your  desired  haven,  as  if  you  could  see  it  ris- 
ing before  you  above  the  blue  waves.  So  much  you  would 
do  that  you  might  convey  in  safety  a  few  tons  of  mer- 
chandise ;  and  all  men  would  hold  you  unwise  if  you  did 
less.     Shall  they  not  tax  you  with  worse  than  folly,  if 

15  you  make  less  preparation  when  your  ship  is  the  human 
soul,  freighted  with  a  parent's  and  a  nation's  hopes, — with 
the  hopes  of  immortality, — if  you  fail  to  study  the  cur- 
rents of  passion,  to  provide  against  the  rocks  of  tempta- 
tion, and  to  look  aloft  for  the  guiding  light  which  shines 

20  only  from  Heaven. 

But,  to  speak  without  simile,  the  study  of  mental  phi- 
losophy is  of  the  greatest  importance  to  a  teacher,  in  every 
point  of  view.  If  we  would  exercise  the  several  powers, 
we  must  know  what  they  are,  and  by  what  discipline  they 

25  are  to  be  trained.  If  we  would  cultivate  them  harmoni- 
ously, in  their  natural  order  and  proportion,  we  must 
know  which  of  them  first  come  into  action,  which  are 
developed  at  a  later  age,  and  what  are  the  province  and 
functions    of  each.      Without   this   knowledge,    we    can 

30  hardly  fail  of  losing  the  most  propitious  times  for  begin- 
ning their  cultivation  ;  we  shall  make  the  common  mis- 
take of  attempting  certain  studies  too  soon,  or  we  shall 
make  use  of  means  little  suited  to  the  ends  we  have  in 
view. 

35  Important  as  this  study  is,  it  is  no  more  difficult  than 
any  other,  if,  in  regard  to  it,  we  take  the  same  courro 
which  we  find  the  true  one  in  other  investigations, — if, 
laying  aside  conjectures,  dreams,  and  speculations,  we 
adopt  the  safe  and  philosophical  rule,  to  observe  cmefully 

40  and  extensively  the  facts,  and  draw  from  them  only  their 
legitimate  conclusions. 

There  are  three  sources  from  which  we  are  to  dra^v 
light ;  first,  the  facts  of  our  own  consciousness,  the  mo  t 
difficult  of  all  to  consult;  second,  the  facts  we  (bserve  in 


PART   II.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  245 

the  mental  growth  of  others,  especially  of  children ;  and 
last,  the  great  storehouse  of  recorded  facts  contained  in 
the  works  of  those,  who,  directly  or  indirectly,  have  writ- 
ten upon  this  subject. 

LESSON  CXVIII. EDUCATION. DR.  HUMPHREY. 

[From  an  Inaugural  Address  delivered  at  Amherst  College.] 

Convened  as  we  are  this  day,  in  the  portals  of  science 
and  literature,  and  with  their  arduous  heights,  and  pro- 
found depths,  and  Elysian  fields  before  us,  education 
offers  itself  as  the  inspiring  theme  of  our  present  inedita- 
5  tions.  This,  in  a  free,  enlightened,  and  Christian  state,  is 
confessedly  a  subject  of  the  highest  moment.  How  can 
the  diamond  reveal  its  lustre  from  beneath  incumbent 
rocks  and  earthly  strata  ?  How  can  the  marble  speak,  or 
stand  forth  in  all  the  divine  symmetry  of  the  human  form, 

10  till  it  is  taken  from  the  quarry,  and  fashioned  by  the  hand 
of  the  artist  ?  And  how  can  man  be  intelligent,  happy,  or 
useful,  without  the  culture  and  discipline  of  education  ? 

It  is  this  that  smooths  and  polishes  the  roughnesses  of 
his  nature.    It  is  this,  that  unlocks  the  prison-house  of  his 

15  mind,  and  brings  out  the  captive.  It  is  the  transforming 
hand  of  education,  which  is  now,  in  so  many  heathen 
lands,  moulding  savageness  and  ignorance,  pagan  fanati- 
cism, and  brutal  stupidity,  revenge,  and  treachery,  and 
lust, — and,  in  short,  all  the  warring  elements  of  our  lapsed 

20  nature,  into  the  various  forms  of  exterior  decency,  of  men- 
tal symmetry,  and  of  Christian  loveliness.  It  is  education 
that  pours  light  into  the  understanding,  lays  up  its  golden 
treasures  in  the  memory,  softens  the  asperities  of  the  tem- 
per, checks  the  waywardness  of  passion  and  appetite,  and 

25  trains  to  habits  of  industry,  temperance,  and  benevolence. 
It  is  this,  which  qualifies  men  for  the  pulpit,  the  senate, 
the  bar,  the  art  of  healing,  and  the  bench  of  justice.  It  is 
to  education,  to  its  domestic  agents,  its  schools  and  col- 
leges, its  universities  and  literary  societies,  that  the  world 

30  is  indebted  for  a  thousand  comforts  and  elegancies  of 
civilized  life,  for  almost  every  useful  art,  discovery,  and 
invention. 

In   a  word,  education,  regarding  man  as   a   rational, 
accountable,  and  immortal  being,  elevates,  expands,  and 

"15  enriches  his  mind  ;  cultivates  the   best  afifections  of  his 
heart ;  pours  a  thousand  sweet  and  gladdening  streams 
around  the  dwellings  of  the  poor,  as  well  as  the  mansions 
21* 


846  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  ■ 

of  the  rich ;  and  while  it  greatly  multiplies  and  enhancea 
the  enjoyments  of  time,  helps  to  train  up  the  soul  for  the 
bliss  of  eternity. 

LESSON    CXIX. — PROGRESS    OF    SCIENCE. EDWARD    EVERETT 

[From  an  Address  before  the  Mass.  Mechanic  Associaiioii.] 

Besides  all  that  may  be  hoped  for,  by  the  diligent  and 
ingenious  use  of  the  materials  for  improvement,  afforded 
by  the  present  state  of  the  arts,  the  progress  of  science 
teaches  us  to  believe,  that  principles,  elements,  and 
5  powers,  are  in  existence  and  operation  around  us,  of 
which  we  have  a  very  imperfect  knowledge,  perhaps  no 
knowledge  whatever. 

Commencing  with  the  mariner's  compass,  in  the  middle 
ages,  a  series  of  discoveries  have  been  made,  connected 

10  with  magnetism,  electricity,  galvanism,  the  polarity  of 
light,  and  the  electro-magnetic  phenomena,  which  are 
occupying  so  much  attention  at  the  present  day,  all  of 
which  are  more  or  less  applicable  to  the  useful  arts,  and 
which  may  well  produce  the  conviction  that,  if,  in  some 

15  respects,  we  are  at  the  meridian,  we  are,  in  other  respects, 
in  the  dawn  of  science. 

In  short,  all  art  is  a  creation  of  the  mind  of  man ; — an 
essence  of  infinite  capacity  for  improvement.  And  it  is 
of  the  nature  of  every  intelligence,  endowed  with  S7ich  a 

20  capacity,  however  mature  in  respect  to  the  past,  to  be  at 
all  times,  in  respect  to  the  future,  in  a  state  of  hopeful 
infancy.  However  vast  the  space  measured  behind,  the 
space  before  is  immeasurable  ;  and  though  the  mind  may 
estimate  the  progress  it  has  made,  the  boldest  stretch  of 

25  its  powers  is  inadequate  to  measure  the  progress  of  which 
it  is  capable. 

Let  me  say,  then,  Persevere.  Do  any  ask  what  you 
have  done,  and  what  you  are  doing,  for  the  public  good  ? 
Send  them  to  your  exhibition  rooms,  and  let  them  see  the 

30  walls  of  the  Temple  of  American  Liberty,*  fitly  covered 
with  the  products  of  American  art.  And  while  they  gaze, 
with  admiration,  on  these  creations  of  the  mechanical  arts 
of  the  country,  bid  them  remember  that  they  are  the  pro- 
ductions  of  a   people,   whose   fathers   were   told  by   the 

35  British  ministry,  they  should  not  manufacture  a  hob-nail. 
Does  any  one  ask,  m  disdain,  for  the  great  names  who 

•  Faneuil  HaU. 


I 


I 


I 


PART   II.]  READER   ANE    SVZAfSJSh,.  247 

have  illustrated  the  mechanic  arts ;  tell  him  of  Arkwright 
and  Watt,  of  Franklin,  of  Whitney  and  Fulton,  whose 
memory  will  dwell  in  the  grateful  recollections  of  pos- 
terity, when  the  titled  and  laureled  destroyers  of  mankind 
6  shall  be  remembered  only  with  detestation. 

Mechanics  of  America,  respect  your  calling,  respect 
yourselves.  The  cause  of  human  improvement  has  nc 
firmer,  or  more  powerful  friends.  In  the  great  temple  of 
nature,  whose  foundation  is  the  earth, — whose  pillars  are 
10  the  eternal  hills, — whose  roof  is  the  star-lit  sky, — whose 
organ-tones  are  the  whispering  breeze  and  the  sounding 
storm, — whose  architect  is  God,  there  is  no  ministry  more 
noble  than  that  of  the  intelligent  mechanic  ! 


LESSON  CXX. — PURPOSE   OF  THE    BUNKER-HILL  MONUMENT.— 
DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

We  know,  indeed,  that  the  record  of  illustrious  actions 
IS  most  safely  deposited  in  the  universal  remembrance  of 
mankind.  We  know,  that  if  we  could  cause  this  structure 
to  ascend,  not  only  till  it  reached  the  skies,  but  till  it 
5  pierced  them,  its  broad  surfaces  could  still  contain  but 
part  of  that,  which,  in  an  age  of  knowledge,  hath  already 
been  spread  over  the  earth,  and  which  history  charges 
itself  with  making  known  to  all  future  times.  We  know, 
that  no  inscription   on   entablatures  less  broad  than  the 

10  earth  itself,  can  carry  information  of  the  events  we  com- 
memorate, where  it  has  not  already  gone  ;  and  that  no 
structure,  which  shall  not  outlive  the  duration  of  letters 
and  knowledge  among  men,  can  prolong  the  memorial. 
But  our  object  is,  by  this  edifice,  to  show  our  own  deep 

15  sense  of  the  value  and  importance  of  the  achievements  of 
our  ancestors  ;  and,  by  presenting  this  work  of  gratitude 
to  the  eye,  to  keep  alive  similar  sentiments,  and  to  foster 
a  constant  regard  for  the  principles  of  the  revolution. 
Human  beings  are  composed  not  of  reason  only,  but  o 

20  imagination  also,  and  sentiment;  and  that  is  neitbjr 
wasted  nor  misapplied  which  is  appropriated  to  the  pur- 
pose ot  giving  right  direction  to  sentiments,  and  opening 
proper  springs  of  feeling  in  the  heart. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed,  that  our  object  is  to  perpetuate 

25  national  hostility,  or  even  to  cherish  a  mere  military 
spirit.  It  Is  higher,  purer,  nobler.  We  consecrate  our 
work  to  the  spirit  of  national  independence,  and  we  wish 


24S  AMERICAN   COBIMON-SCHOOL  [fART   U. 

that  the  light  of  peace  may  rest  upon  it  forever.  We  rear 
a  memorial  of  our  conviction  of  that  unmeasured  benefit, 
which  has  been  conferred  on  our  own  land,  and  of  the 
happy  influences,  which  have  been  produced,  by  the 
6  same  events,  on  the  general  interests  of  mankind. 

We  come,  as  Americans,  to  mark  a  spot,  which  must 
forever  be  dear  to  us  and  our  posterity.  We  wish  that 
whosoever,  in  all  coming  time,  shall  turn  his  eye  hither, 
may  behold  that  the  place  is  not  undistinguished,  where 

10  the  first  great  battle  of  the  revolution  was  fought.  We 
wish  that  this  structure  may  proclaim  the  magnitude  and 
importance  of  that  event,  to  every  class  and  every  age. 
We  wish  that  infancy  may  learn  the  purpose  of  its  erec- 
tion from  maternal  lips,  and  that  wearied  and  "withered 

15  age  may  behold  it,  and  be  solaced  by  the  recollections 
which  It  suggests.  We  wish  that  labor  may  look  up 
here,  and  be  proud,  in  the  midst  of  its  toil.  We  wish 
that,  in  those  days  of  disaster,  which,  as  they  come  on  all 
nations,  must  be  expected  to  come  on  us  also,  desponding 

20  patriotism  may  turn  its  eyes  hitherward,  and  be  assured, 
that  the  foundations  of  our  national  power  still  stand 
strong. 

We  wish  that  this  column,  rising  towards  heaven, 
among  the  pointed  spires  of  so  many  temples  dedicated 

25  to  God,  may  contribute  also  to  produce,  in  all  minds,  a 
pious  feeling  of  dependence  and  gratitude.  We  wish, 
finally,  that  the  last  object  on  the  sight  of  him  who  leaves 
his  native  shore,  and  the  first  to  gladden  his  whu  revisits 
it,  may  be  something  which  shall   remind   him  of  the 

30  liberty  and  the  glory  of  his  country.  Let  it  rise,  till  it 
meet  the  sun  in  his  coming;  let  the  earliest  light  of  the 
morning  gild  it,  and  parting  day  linger  and  play  on  its 
summit. 


CXXI. — THE    AMERICAN    FLAG. — J.  R.  DRAKE. 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 

Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 
She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dies 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white, 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 


I 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  249 

Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun, 
She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  liand, 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

5  Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form. 
To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 

And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 
When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
10  And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven, — 

Child  of  the  sun  !  to  thee  'tis  given 
To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free  ; 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke. 
To  ward  away  the  battle  stroke ; 
15  And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar. 

Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 
The  harbingers  of  victory  ! 

Flag  of  the  brave  !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 

The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 
20  When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone. 

And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on. 

Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet. 

Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet. 

Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
25  To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn  ; 

And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance. 

Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance ; 

And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud, 

Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud  ; 
30  And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall, 

Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall ; 

Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
35  That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas  !  on  ocean  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave. 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
40  And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back. 

Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack  : 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea, 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee; 


SM  AMBEICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   B. 

And  smile  to  see  thy  splendor  fly, 

In  triumph,  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given  ; 
S  The  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
For  ever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  H-ills  before  us 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 
10  And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ' 


LESSON  CXXII.— GREECE    IN    1820. J.  #.  BROOKS. 

Land  of  the  brave  !  where  lie  inurned 
The  shrouded  forms  of  mortal  clay. 
In  whom  the  fire  of  valor  burned, 
And  blazed  upon  tlie  battle's  fray; 
6  Land  where  the  gallant  Spartan  few 

Bled  at  Thermopylae  of  yore, 
When  death  his  purple  garment  threw 
On  Hellas'  consecrated  shore  ! 

Land  of  the  Muse  !  within  thy  bowers 
.0  Her  soul-entrancing  echoes  rung, 

WTiile  on  their  course  the  rapid  hours 
Paused  at  the  melody  she  rung; 
Till  every  grove  and  every  hill. 
And  every  stream  that  flowed  along, 
.^  From  morn  to  night  repeated  still 

The  winning  harmony  of  song. 

Land  of  dead  heroes  !  living  slaves  ! 
Shall  glory  gild  thy  clime  no  more  ? 
Her  banner  float  above  thy  waves, 
?0  Where  proudly  it  hath  swept  before  ? 

Hath  not  remembrance  then  a  charm 
To  break  the  fetter  and  the  chain ; 
To  bid  thy  children  nerve  the  arm, 
And  strike  for  freedom  once  again  ? 

25  No  !  coward  souls  !  the  light  which  shone 

On  Leuctra's  war-empurpled  day. 
The  light  which  beamed  on  Marathon, 
Hath  lost  its  splendor,  ceased  to  play; 
And  thou  art  but  a  shadow  now, 

30  With  helmet  shattered,  spear  in  rust ; 


I 


fAKT    l\.]  BEADER    AiNI)    SPEAKER.  261 

Thine  honor  but  a  dream,  and  thou 
Despised,  degraded  in  the  dust ! 
Where  sleeps  the  spirit,  that  of  old 
Dashed  down  to  earth  the  Persian  plume, 
6  When  the  loud  chant  of  triumph  told 

How  fatal  was  the  despot's  doom  ? 
The  bold  three  hundred — where  are  they, 
Who  died  on  battle's  gory  breast? 
Tyrants  have  trampled  on  the  clay, 
10  Where  de*ath  has  hushed  them  into  rest. 

Yet,  Ida,  yet  upon  thy  hill, 
A  glory  shines  of  ages  fled  ; 
And  fame  her  light  is  pouring  still, 
Not  on  the  living,  but  the  dead ; 
15  But  't  is  the  dim  sepulchral  light. 

Which  sheds  a  faint  and  feeble  ray, 
As  moon-beams  on  the  brow  of  night. 
When  tempests  sweep  upon  their  way. 

Greece  !  yet  awake  thee  from  thy  trance  ; 
20  Behold  thy  banner  waves  afar  ; 

Behold  the  glittering  weapons  glanco 

Along  the  gleaming  front  of  w^ar  ! 

A  gallant  chief  of  high  emprize,"^ 

Is  urcfine  foremost  in  the  field, 
25  Who  calls  upon  thee  to  arise 

In  might,  in  majesty  revealed. 

In  vain,  in  vain  the  hero  calls ; 
In  vain  he  sounds  the  trumpet  loud ; 
His  banner  totters;  see.  it  falls 
30  In  rain,  freedom's  battle  shroud  ; 

Thy  children  have  no  soul  to  dare 
Such  deeds  as  glorified  their  sires  ; 
Their  valor  's  but  a  meteor's  glare. 
Which  gleams  a  moment  and  expires. 

35  Lost  land  !  where  Genius  made  his  reign. 

And  reared  his  golden  arch  on  high 

Where  science  raised  her  sacred  fane. 

Its  summit  peering  to  the  sky ; 

Upon  thy  clime  the  midnight  deep 
40  Of  ignorance  hath  brooded  long; 

♦  ypsilanti. 


AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   n 

And  in  the  lomb,  forgotten,  sleep 
•  The  sons  of  science  and  of  song. 

Thy  sun  hath  set,  the  evening  storm 
Hath  passed  in  giant  fury  by, 
6  To  blast  the  beauty  of  thy  form, 

And  spread  its  pall  upon  the  sky  ; 
Gone  is  thy  glory's  diadem, 
And  freedom  never  more  shall  cease 
*  To  pour  her  mournful  requiem 

10  O'er  blighted,  lost,  degraded  Greece ! 

r  —       ^ 

LESSON    CXXIII. THE    WILD    BOY. CHARLES    WE'^T'^PpMMi 

He  sat  upon  the  wave -washed  shore 

With  madness  in  his  eye ; 
The  surge's  dash, — the  breaker's  roar, 

Pass'd  unregarded  by ; 
6  He  noted  not  the  billows'  roll, 

He  heeded  not  their  strife, — 
For  terror  had  usurped  his  soul. 

And  stopped  the  streams  of  life. 

They  spoke  him  kindly, — but  he  gazed, 
-  10  And  offered  no  reply  ; — 

-  They  gave  him  food, — he  looked  amazed, 

And  threw  the  morsel  by. 
He  was  as  one  o'er  whom  a  spell 
Of  darkness  hath  been  cast ; 
15  His  spirit  seemed  to  dwell  alone, 

With  dangers  that  were  past. 

The  city  of  his  home  and  heart. 

So  grand, — so  gaily  bright, 
Now  touched  by  fate's  unerring  u;iri, 
20  Had  vanished  from  his  sight. 

The  earthquake's  paralyzing  shake 

Had  rent  it  from  its  hold, —  • 

And  nothing  but  a  putrid  lake. 

Its  tale  of  terror  told. 

25  His  kindred  there,  a  numerous  band. 

Had  watched  his  youthful  bloom,— 
In  the  broad  ruin  of  the  land. 
All — all  had  met  their  doom  ! 


TART    U.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  253 

But  the  last  night,  a  mother's  voice, 

Breathed  over  him  in  prayer, — 
She  perished, — he  was  left  no  choice  V*. 

But  mute  and  blank  despair.  ^ 

5  He  sat  alone,  of  all  the  crowd 

That  lately  thronged  around, — 
The  ocean  winds  were  piping  loud, 

He  did  not  heed  their  sound  ; 
They  asked  him  of  that  city's  fate, 
10  But  reason's  reign  was  o'er, — 

He  pointed  to  her  ruined  slate, 
Then  fled, — and  spoke  no  more. 


LESSON    CXXIV. — THE    CURE    OF    MELANCHOLY. CARLOS  AVLCOl 

And  thou  to  whom  long  worshipped  nature  lends 
No  strength  to  fly  from  grief  or  bear  its  weight. 
Stop  not  to  rail  at  foes  or  fickle  friends. 
Nor  set  the  world  at  naught,  nor  spurn  at  fate  ; 
6       None  seek  thy  misery,  none  thy  being  hate  ; 
Break  from  thy  former  self,  thy  life  beirin  ; 
Do'  thou  the  good  thy  thoughts  oft  meditate. 
And  thou  shalt  feel  the  good  man's  peace  within, 
And  at  thy  dying  day  his  wreath  of  glory  win. 

10       With  deeds  of  virtue  to  embalm  his  name, 
He  dies  in  triumph  or  serene  delight ; 
Weaker  and  weaker  grows  his  mortal  frame 
At  every  breath,  but  in  immortal  might 
His  spirit  grows,  preparing  for  its  flight : 

f5       The  world  recedes  and  fades  like  clouds  of  even, 

But  heaven  comes  nearer  fast,  and  grows  more  bright. 
All  intervening  mists  far  off' are  driven  ; 
The  world  will  vanish  soon,  and  all  will  soon  be  heaven. 

Wouldst  thou  from  sorrow  find  a  sweet  relief? 
20       Or  is  thy  heart  oppressed  with  woes  untold  ? 

Balm  wouldst  thou  gather  for  corroding  grief? 

Pour  blessings  round  thee  like  a  shower  of  gold. 

*T  is  when  the  rose  is  wrapped  in  many  a  fold 

Close  to  its  heart,  the  worm  is  wasting  there 
25       Its  life  and  beauty  ;  not,  when  all  unrolled. 

Leaf  after  eaf  its  bosom  rich  and  fair 
Breathes  freely  its  perfumes  throughout  the  ambient  air. 
22 


864  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

Wake !  thou  thai  slccpest  in  enchanted  bowers, 
Lest  these  lost  years  should  haunt  thee  on  the  night 
When  death  is  waiting  for  thy  numbered  hours 
To  take  their  swift  and  everlasting  flight; 
5       Wake  *  ere  the  earihborn  charm  unnerve  thee  quite, 
And  be  thy  thoughts  to  work  divine  addressed ; 
Do  something, — do  it  soon, — with  all  thy  might; 
An  angel's  wing  would  droop  if  long  at  rest, 
And  God  himself  inactive  were  no  longer  blessed. 

10       Some  high  or  humble  enterprise  of  good 
Contemplate  till  it  shall  possess  thy  mind. 
Become  thy  study,  pastime,  rest,  and  food, 
And  kindle  in  thy  heart  a  flame  refined  ; 
Pray  Heaven  for  firmness  thy  whole  soul  to  bind 

15       To  this  thy  purpose, — to  begin,  pursue. 

With  thoughts  all  fixed  and  feelings  purely  kind. 
Strength  to  complete  and  with  delight  review, 
A)id  grace  to  give  the  praise  where  all  is  ever  due. 


LESSON   CXXV. — JHY   NATIVE    VILLAGE. — JOHN   H.  BRYANT 

There  lies  a  village  in  a  peaceful  vale. 

With  sloping  hills  and  waving  woods  around, 

Fenced  from  the  blasts.     There  never  ruder  gale 
Bows  the  tall  grass  that  covers  all  the  ground ; 
5         And  planted  shrubs  are  there,  and  cherished  flowen 

And  a  bright  verdure  born  of  gentle  showers. 

'T  was  there  my  young  existence  was  begiin. 

My  earliest  sports  were  on  its  flowery  green. 
And  often,  when  my  schoolboy  task  was  done, 
10  I  climbed  its  hills  to  view  the  pleasant  scene, 

'And  stood  and  gazed  till  the  sun's  setting  ray 
Shone  on  the  height, — the  sweetest  of  the  day. 

There,  when  that  hour  of  mellow  light  was  come, 
And  mountain  shadows  cooled  the  ripened  grair 
16         I  watched  the  weary  yeoman  plodding  home. 
In  the  lone  path  that  winds  across  the  plain. 
To  rest  his  limbs,  and  watch  his  child  at  play, 
And  tell  him  o'er  the  labors  of  the  day. 

And  when  the  woods  put  on  their  autumn  glew 
M  And  the  bright  sun  came  in  among  the  trees, 


I 


PART    U."]  READER    >  ND    SPEAKER.  255 

And  leaves  were  gathering  in  the  glen  below, 

Swept  softly  from  the  mountains  by  the  breeze, 
I  wandered  till  the  starlight  on  the  stream 
At  length  awoke  me  from  my  fairy  dream. 

5         Ah  !  happy  days,  too  happy  to  return, 

Fled  on  the  wings  of  youth's  departed  years, 
A  bitter  lesson  has  been  mine  to  learn, 

The  truth  of  life,  its  labors,  pains,  and  fears ; 
Yet  does  the  memory  of  my  boyhood  stay, 
0         A  twilight  of  the  brightness  passed  away. 

My  thoughts  steal  back  to  that  sweet  village  still ; 

Its  flowers  and  peaceful  shades  before  me  rise ; 
The  play-place  and  the  prospect  from  the  hill, 

Its  summer  verdure,  and  autumnal  dyes ; 
15         The  present  brings  its  storms ;  but,  while  they  last, 
I  shelter  me  in  the  delightful  past. 


LESSON    CXXVI. — THE    PRESS. — JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM. 

Look  abroad,  over  the  face  of  this  vast  and  almost  illim- 
itable continent,  and  behold  multitudes  which  no  man  can 
number,  impatient  of  the  slow  process  of  education,  wrest- 
ling with  the  powers  of  nature,  and  the  obstructions  of 
5  accident,  and,  like  the  patriarch,  refusing  to  let  go  their 
hold,  till  the  day  break,  and  they  receive  the  promised 
blessing,  and  the  recompense  of  the  struggle. 

You  will  perceive,  too,  in  the  remotest  corners,  where 
civilization  has  planted  her  standard,  that  there  the  Press,  the 

10  mightiest  engine,  ever  yet  invented  by  the  genius  of  man, 
is  producing  a  moral  revolution,  on  a  scale  of  grandeur 
and  magnificence,  unknown  to  all  former  generations.  By 
it,  information  of  every  transaction  of  government,  and  of 
all  important  occurrences,  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  world, 

15  is  transmitted  with  a  degree  of  speed  and  regularity,  that 
the  most  sagacious  could  not  have  foreseen,  nor  the  most 
enthusiastic  have  dared  to  hope  for,  fifty  years  ago.  *  By 
the  Press,  every  cottage  is  supplied  with  its  newspaper, 
and  elementary  books,  in  the  most  useful  sciences;  and 

?P  every  cradle  is  supplied  with  tracts  and  toy-books,  to  teach 
the  infant  to  lisp  lessons  of  wisdom  and  piety,  long  before 
his  mind  has  power  to  conceive,  or  firmness  to  retain,  their 
meaning. 

The  power  of  this  engine,  in  the  moral  and  intellectual 


256  AMEKICAlf   C0MM0N-S5CH00L  [PART  IL 

universe,  is  inconceivable.  There  is  no  ordinary  operation 
of  the  physical  elements,  to  which  its  mighty  influence  can 
be  compared.  We  can  find,  only  in  the  visions  of  the 
apocalyptic  saint,  a  parallel  to  its  tremendous  action. 
5  Guided  by  truth  and  reason,  like  the  sound  of  the  seventh 
trumpet,  it  opens  the  temple  of  God  in  heaven,  and  shows 
to  the  eye  of  the  faithful  and  regenerated  spirit,  within 
the  veil  of  that  temple,  in  the  presence-chamber  of  the 
Almighty,  the  ark  of  his  testament.     Controlled  by  false- 

10  hood  and  fraud,  its  force,  like  the  opening  of  the  sixth  seal 
of  the  mystic  volume,  produces  earthquakes,  turns  the  sun 
to  sackcloth  and  the  moon  to  blood,  moves  every  moun- 
tain and  island  out  of  their  places,  and  causes  even  the 
heaven  we  hope  for,  to  depart  as  a  scroll,  when  it  is  rolled 

15  tc^ther. 

LESSON  CIXVU. MOC^•T   AUBURN. NEHEMIAH  ADAMS. 

There  is  a  spot  within  a  few  miles  of  Boston,  which  is 
destined  to  be  distinguished  as  a  burying-place.  "  Sweet 
Auburn"  was  familiariy  known  as  a  place  of  favorite  re- 
sort ;  its  shady  and  intricate  retreats,  afTording  opportunity 
5  for  social  or  solitary  rambles,  and  its  botanic  richness  a 
field  for  pastime  and  study.  The  place  has  been  purchased 
by  an  Association, and  consecrated  as  a  cemeierv.  v.ith^e 
name  of  Mount  Auburn,  ■ 

Its  distant  appearance  was  formerly  better  tnan  at  pre 

10  ent,  many  of  the  trees  now  being  removed.  It  looked  like 
a  large  mound  rather  than  a  hill,  its  central  elevation 
being  surrounded  by  deep  glens  and  valleys,  whose  tree 
tops  preserved  a  regular  ascent,  and  reduced  the  otherwise 
prominent  height  of  the  centre  to  the  slope  of  a  large 

15  dome.     It  always  seemed  as  though  it  were  destinq^lo, 
some  important  and  solemn  use.  M   I 

From  the  bridge  across  Charles  river,  in  Cambridge,  at" 
sunset,  when  the  horizontal  ligfit  rayed  into  it,  and  the 
glowing  western  sky  showed  in  relief  the  quick  motion  of 

20  the  leaves  in  the  fresh  evening  air,  it  has  appeared  like  a 
solemn  and  mournful  place,  enlivened,  against  its  will, 
by  the  voices  and  joy  of  a  multitude,  and  showing,  as  it 
assumed  its  natural  shades,  that  it  was  of  a  melancholy 
and  sorrowing  spirit. 

25      Now,  its  dense  woods  are  thinned  ;  and,  from  the  com 
rnon  road  to  the  place,  and,  within  a  fraction  of  a  milo. 


?AET  ilJ  eeadee  axd  sfeakek.  297 

where  the  la^t  house  on  the  left  leaves  the  view  iiiibrokeii« 
you  see  a  large  white  object,  ^ith  a  bbck  centre,  peeiinff 
out  Crom  the  side  of  a  hill ;  the  nature  and  object  of  whkS 
at  a  loss  to  know,  as  t!     "^       lian  Poftal 
G  '  appearing  before  him  *.  imcripCMm, 

*'  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  as  it  was ;  and 
the  spirit  shall  return  to  God  who  gave  it.'' 

There  has  been  a  large  number  of  avenoes  and  paths 
laid  through  the  place.   The  paths  wind  throiig;h  romantic 

10  recesses.  It  n-as  with  a  peculiar  sensation  that  we  walked 
through  the  p]ace.  when  the  arennes  were  first  made.  It 
was  like  viewi:  at,  bat  mournful  conquest.     Man 

had  invaded  a  :.  sacred  and  safe  retieat;  and  the 

aye  and  plough-share  had  let  in  the  common  son.     The 

15  turf  had  just  been  remored  from  the  wajs,  exposing  a 
glebe  made  rich  by  the  decay  of  a  thousand  antomns. 

The  robins  were  rejoicing  orer  a  strai^  s°Pp' J  ^  food. 
The  sound  of  the  workman's  implements,  from  difierent 
parts  of  the  place,  showed  that  "  Sweet  Aobam"  was  no 

20  longer  a  safe  retreat;  and  the  sadden  appearance  of  a 
trench,  with  Uocks  of  granite  near,  and  other  prepaiatioits 
for  a  tomb,  made  known  the  change  that  had  taken  ^Aaot 
in  the  character  of  this  beautiful  retiremeaL 


LESSOK  CXXnn. ^TRYGCG  to  FIXikSE. ^EDWAKD  T.  CHAXHDEC 

We  know,  that  it  is  difficult  to  draw  the  line  between 
good  social  dbpiositions  and  actions  generally,  and  a  sickly 
regard  to  false  exactions ;  and  to  avoid  naeless  diacrmiina- 
tions,  we  shall  venture  to  say,  that  we  dislike  much  of  tlie 
5  current  language  on  die  subject  of  pleasing.  We  didika 
the  phrase,  *  trying  to  please."  It  is  deceptive,  and  the 
practice  itself  leads  to  efieminacy  or  fraud.  It  pots  nwa 
in  wroT^^  positions  towards  each  other. 

To  shun  giving  needless  ofience  is  one  thing,  and  most 
10  important.      This  passive  good- will  or  negative  benevo- 
lence is  not  sustained  without  efibrt ;  amd,  as  it  is  little 
noticed  by  those  whom  it  spares,  it  is  likely  to  be  disiiiler- 
ested.  and  can  scarcely  do  harm  to  either  party. 

Then,  again,  to  give  innocent  pleasure  to  others  hy 

15  active  efforts  and  personal  sacrifices  in  their  behalf^  is  safe 

for  -all  concerned.    And  to  gratify  oar  friends  by  oar  moial 

excellence  and  high  reputation,  is  a  natural  lewazd,  dioiig^ 

we  should  not  propose  it  as  the  object,  of  virtooos 

22* 


258  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  H. 

And  undoubtedly  our  cubioniary  civilities  and  attentioni 

are  in  pari  designed  to  give  piea:<iire. 

But  Chesterfield's  "passionate  desire  of  pleasing  every* 

body,"  this  endeavoring  so  to  adapt  ourselves  to  the  dispo- 
6  sitions  of  others,  that  admiration  and  gratitude  shall  beam 

upon  us  whenever  we  appear,  and  our  very  persons  become 

idols,  is  not  the  prompting  or  expression  of  benevolence  ; 

and  it  is  foreign  to  the  true  spirit  and  purpose  of  civility. 

There  is  selfishness  on  both  sides,  and  mutual  mischief. 
10  Men  have  no  right  to  such  a  show  of  devotion,  and  we 

have  no  right  to  offer  it. 

We  are  not  placed  here,  solely  or  chiefly,  to  please  or  to 

be  pleased,  even  in  the  best  sense  that  we  can  give  to  these 

terms ;  but  to  be  good  and  to  do  good.     And,  so  far  a-s 
15  manners  promote  these  objects,  let  them  be  cultivated  with 

enthusiasm,  as  virtues ;   and,  so  far  as  they    then  give 

pleasure,  they  yield  a  natural  fruit. 


LESSON    CXXIX. DEFENCE    OF    CHARLES    GREENLEAF. 

G.  S.  HILLARD. 

Gentlemen,  it  is  time  for  me  to  bring  my  remarks  to  a 
close.  I  believe  that  I  have  left  no  point  unurged,  which 
may  be  presented  to  you  in  an  aspect  favorable  to  the  pris- 
oner ;  and  he  now  awaits  your  merciful  consideration. 
6  I  presume  that  no  advocate,  in  a  capital  cause,  was  ever 
satisfied  with  his  efforts,  in  his  client's  behalf;  who  did  not 
feel,  or  fancy,  on  a  sober  re-consideration  of  his  argument, 
that  he  might  have  done  better.  I  am  prepared  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  this  reflection  hereafter ;  and,  if  so,  I  must  draw 

10  what  comfort  I  can,  from  that,  I  now  feel, — that  I  have 
done  what  I  could.  > 

I  have  endeavored  to  argue  this  cause  fairly.  I  am  not 
conscious  of  having  mis-stated  the  facts  in  evidence,  or 
laid  down  the  law  incorrectly ;  and  if  I  have,  I  shall  be 

15  sure  to  hear  of  it,  before  the  case  is  through.  In  such 
cases,  however,  there  is  no  great  diflTerence,  between  what 
can  be  accomplished  by  the  highest  or  the  humblest  facul- 
ties. The  prisoner  is  saved,  if  at  all,  by  the  law  and  facts ; 
and  by  these,  and  these   alone,  do   I   solicit  my  client'^ 

20  acquittal.  If  I  have  failed,  or  been  wanting,  let  tliem  speak 
for  me,  and  make  up  for  my  deficiencies. 

There  is  another  class  of  considerations,  in  this  case 
wiiich  might  be  urged, — another  cl^ss  of  emptions  which 


PART    II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  259 

might  be  addressed  in  my  client's  behalf.  In  countries, 
where  the  passions  have  a  more  predominating  sway, 
where  the  organization  of  man  is  more  excitable,  and  his 
blood  more  easily  stirred,  an  advocate  would  not  omit  to 
5  urge  these  considerations, — to  appeal  to  these  sensibilities. 
I  might  speak  to  you  of  the  gloom  which  an  unfavora- 
ble verdict  will  spread  among  a  large  circle  of  friends  and 
relatives,  of  the  anguish  of  his  heart-broken  wife,  of  the 
withering  blight  which  will  fall  upon  his  innocent  children, 

10  of  the  deep,  unmoving  shadow  which  will  settle  upon  his 
once  cheerful  hearth. 

But  that  stern  fibre,  which  the  mind  and  character  de- 
rives from  our  northern  skies,  rebukes  such  attempts,  and 
ensures  their  failure,  if  made.     Such  chords,  if  skilfully 

15  struck,  will  tremble  and  vibrate  for  a  moment,  but  will  not 
draw  the  judgment  from  its  place.    Justice  is  deaf,  passion- 
less, inexorable.    Upon  the  guilty  head,  the  great  axe  must 
fall,  no  matter  what  chords  of  love  it  severs  in  its  sweep. 
But,  of  these  considerations,  I  may  make  a  legitimate 

20  use.  From  them  I  may  deepen  the  earnestness,  with  which 
I  adjure  you  to  deal  with  this  case  wisely,  soberly,  con- 
scientiously, with  the  best  faculties  of  your  minds,  and  the 
brightest  effluence  of  your  moral  sense.  Judge  it  merci- 
fully, as  you  would  be  judged,  when  the  verdict  is  to  pass 

25  upon  your  lives.  Give  to  the  prisoner  all  that  you  can, 
not  inconsistent  with  the  claims  of  truth,  not  repugnant  to 
the  solemn  sanctions  of  your  oath. 

By  all  that  m~akes  life  sweet  to  you,  take  not  his  away 
lightly.    By  that  good  name  which  is  the  immediate  jewel 

30  of  your  souls,  by  the  tranquil  satisfaction  of  regular  and 
successful  industry,  by  the  sustaining  sympathy  of  your 
friends,  by  the  sunshine  that  beams  from  old  familiar  faces, 
by  the  sweet  charities  of  domestic  life,  by  the  kisses  of 
your  children,  which  perhaps  are  warm  upon  your  lips, 

23  close  not  the  gates  of  mercy  against  your  brother  maw, 
unless  driven  by  that  awful  voice  of  duty,  before  which  all 
earthly  considerations  must  ever  give  way. 


LESSON  CXXX. THE  GENIUS  OF  ARISTOPHANES.— C.  C.  FELTOIf 

The  greatness  of  the  genius  of  Aristophanes,  is  not 
generally  appreciated.  The  value  of  his  comedies,  as 
illustrations  of  the  political  antiquities,  the  life,  morals,  and 
manners  of  Athens,  is  not  fully  understood.    The  truth  isj 


260  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    0 

we  are  indebted  to  him  for  information  upon  the  working 
of  the  Attic  institutions,  which,  had  all  his  plays  been  lost, 
we  should  have  vainly  sought  for  in  the  works  of  other 
authors.  With  what  boldness  and  vigor  does  he  sketch 
6  that  many-headed  despot,  the  Demos  of  Athens;  with 
what  austere  truth,  does  he  draw  the  character  of  the 
Athenian  Demagogue,  and,  in  him,  the  Demagogue  of  all 
times ;  how  many  rays  of  light  are  poured  from  his  com- 
edies, upon  the  popular  and  judicial  tribunals, — the  assem- 

lO  blies  in  the  Pnyx,  the  Senate,  and  the  Heliastic  courts  ! 
No  intelligent  reader  can  doubt,  that  Aristophanes  was 
a  man  of  the  most  profound  acquaintance  with  the  politi- 
cal institutions  of  his  age ;  no  reader  of  poetic  fancy  can 
fail   to  see  that   he  possessed  an  extraordinary  creative 

15  genius.  It  is  impossible  to  study  his  works  attentively, 
without  feeling  that  his  was  the  master  mind  of  the  Attic 
drama.  The  brightest  flashes  of  a  high  poetical  spirit,  are 
constantly  breaking  out,  from  the  midst  of  the  broadest 
merriment,  and  the  sharpest  satire.     An  imagination  of 

20  endless  variety  and  strength,  enlivens  those  lyrical  passages 
which  gem  his  works,  and  are  among  the  most  precious 
brilliants  of  the  Greek  language.  In  the  drawing  of  char- 
acters, his  plays  exhibit  consummate  skill.  The  clearness 
of  his  conceptions,  the  precision  of  his  outlines,  the  con- 

25  sistency  with  which  his  personages  are  throughout  main- 
tained, cannot  fail  to  impress  the  reader,  with  the  perfec- 
tion of  his  judgment,  and  the  masterly  management  of  the 
resources  of  his  art. 

He  had  the  inestimable  advantage,  too,  of  writing  in  a 

30  language  which  is  undoubtedly  the  highest  attainment  of 
human  speech ;  and  all  the  rich  varieties  and  harmonies 
of  this  wondrous  instrument,  he  held  at  his  supreme  com- 
mand. Its  flexibility,  under  his  shaping  hand,  is  almost 
miraculous.    At  one  moment,  he  is  revelling  in  the  wildest 

35  mirth,  and  the  next,  he  is  sweeping  through  the  loftiest 
region  of  lyrical  inspiration  ;  but  the  language  never  breaks 
down  under  his  adventurous  flight.  The  very  words  he 
wants,  come,  like  beings  instinct  with  life,  and  fall  into 
their  proper  places,  at  his  bidding.    His  wit  is  as  manifold 

40  and  startling,  as  the  myriad-minded  Shakspeare*s.  Indeed, 
although  these  great  men  stood  two  thousand  years  apart, 
and  moved  in  widely  diflTering  spheres  of  poetical  activity, 
still  many  striking  points  of  resemblance  exist  between  the 
genius  of  the  English,  and  of  the  Grecian  bard. 


t 


Pa«T   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  261 

LESSON    CXXXI. RESPONSIBILITY    OF    AMERICANS.— 

E.  S.  GANNETT. 

The  Christian  world  is  passing  through  a  momenlouj 
crisis.  A  struggle  has  begun,  such  as  the  kingdoms  of 
Europe  luive  never  before  known.  The  elements  of  revo- 
lution no  longer  slumber  in  any  one  of  them.  Ever  and 
5  anon,  they  break  forth  in  tumult  and  bloodshed.  Smoth- 
ered, they  are  not  idle;  pent  up  in  the  confinement  which 
sovereigns  impose  on  them,  they  are  but  accumulating 
strength  for  new  eruptions.  Two  parties  exist  throughout 
all  the  states  of  Europe,  with  the  exception  perhaps  of 

lO  imperial  Russia, — the  popular  party,  and  the  party  that 
support  old  institutions,  either  because  they  know  that,  if 
these  fajl,  they  shall  be  buried  in  the  ruins,  or  because 
habit  has  so  accustomed  them  to  subjection,  that  they  feel 
no  wish  to  part  with  their  chains. 

15  The  cause  of  freedom,  of  human  rights,  and  the  worUrs 
improvement,  depends  on  the  fidelity  of  the  popular  party 
to  the  principles  which  they  have  undertaken  to  sustain. 
A  fearful  contest  must  ensue,  with  reciprocal  defeat,  and 
mutual  obstinacy.     If  the  popular  party  should  prevail,  it 

20  can  only  be  after  long  and  desperate  efforts,  under  which 
they  will  need  every  encoiiragement.  With  this  party, 
our  sympathies  are  inseparably  linked.  From  our  exam- 
ple, came  the  first  ray  that  penetrated  the  darkness,  from 
which  they  have  awoke.    Under  its  steady  influence,  they 

25  hope  to  press  on  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  wishes. 
If  its  aspect  should  be  changed,  their  disappointment  would 
be  severe,  it  might  be  fatal. 

The  eyes  of  Europe  are  upon  us  ;  the  monarch,  from  his 
throne,  watches  us  with  an  angry  countenance ;   the  peas- 

30  ant  turns  his  gaze  on  us,  with  joyful  faith ;  the  writers,  on 
politics,  quote  our  condition,  as  a  proof  of  the  possibility 
of  popular  government;  the  heroes  of  freedom  animate 
their  followers,  by  reminding  them  of  our  success  At  no 
moment  of  the  last  half  century,  has  it  been  so  important, 

^•5  that  we  should  send  up  a  clear  and  strong  light  which  may 
be  seen  across  the  Atlantic.  An  awful  charge  of  unfaith- 
fulness to  the  interests  of  mankind,  will  be  recorded  against 
us,  if  we  suffer  this  light  to  be  obscured,  by  the  rainj^ling 
vapors  of  passion,  and  misrule,  and  sin. 

40  But  not  Europe,  alone,  will  be  influenced  by  the  charac- 
ter we  give  to  our  destiny.  The  repul)lics  of  the  south 
have  no  other  <mide  towards  the  establishment  of  order 


262  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [fABT  U. 

and  freedom,  than  our  example.  If  this  should  fail  them, 
the  last  slay  would  be  torn  from  their  hope.  We  are 
placed  under  a  most  solemn  obligation,  to  keep  before  them 
this  motive  to  perseverance,  in  their  endeavors  to  place 
6  free  institutions  on  a  sure  basis.  Shall  we  leave  those 
wide  regions  to  despair  and  anarchy  ?  Better  that  they 
had  patiently  borne  a  foreign  yoke,  though  it  bowed  theii 
necks  to  the  ground. 

Citizens  of  the  United  States,  it  has  been  said  of  us, 

10  with  truth,  that  we  are  at  the  head  of  the  popular  party  ot 
the  world.  Shall  we  be  ashamed  of  so  glorious  a  rank  ? 
or  shall  we  basely  desert  our  place,  and  throw  away  our 
distinction  ?  Forbid  it,  self-respect,  patriotism,  philan- 
thropy !     Christians,  we  believe  that  God  has  made  us  o 

15  name  and  a  praise,  among  the  nations.  We  believe  that 
our  religion  yields  its  best  fruits  in  a  free  land.  Shall  we 
be  regardless  of  our  duty,  as  creatures  of  the  Divine  Power, 
and  recipients  of  his  goodness?  Shall  we  be  indifferent 
to  the  effects  which  our  religion  may  work  in  the  world  ? 

20  Forbid  it  our  gratitude,  our  faith,  our  piety  ! 

In  one  way  only,  can  we  discharge  our  duty  to  the  rest 
of  mankind  ;  by  the  purity  and  elevation  of  character  that 
shall  distinguish  us  as  a  people.  If  we  sink  into  luxury, 
vice,  or  moral  apathy,  our  brightness  will  be   lost,  our 

25  prosperity  deprived  of  its  vital  element ;  and  we  shall 
appear  disgraced  before  man,  guilty  before  God. 


LESSON   CXXXII. THE    MOCKING-BIRD. ALEXANDER   WILSON 

The  plumage  of  the  mocking-bird,  though  none  of  the 
homeliest,  has  nothing  gaudy  or  brilliant  in  it;  and,  had 
he  nothing  else  to  recommend  him,  would  scarcely  entitle 
him  to  notice ;   but  his  figure  is   well-proportioned,  and 

5  even  handsome.  The  ease,  elegance,  and  rapidity  of  his 
movements,  the  animation  of  his  eye,  and  the  intelligence 
he  displays  in  listening,  and  laying  up  lessons  from  almost 
every  species  of  the  feathered  creation  within  his  hearinjr, 
are   really  surprising,  and   mark    the    peculiarity  of  his 

!0  genius. 

To  these  qualities,  we  may  add  ihat  of  a  voice  full, 
strong,  and  musical,  and  capable  of  almost  every  modula- 
tion, from  the  clear,  mellnv  tones  of  the  wood-thrush,  to 
the  savage  screams  of  the  bald  eagle.     In  measure  and 

15  accent,  he  faitlifully  foUows  his  originals.     In  force  and 


PART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  263 

sweetness  of  expression,  he  greatly  improves  upon  them. 
In  his  native  groves,  mounted  upon  the  top  of  a  tall  bush, 
or  half-grown  tree,  in  the  dawn  of  a  dewy  morning,  while 
the  woods  are  already  vocal  with  a  multitude  of  warbler.^ 
5  his  admirable  song  rises  preeminent  over  every  com 
pet  iter. 

The  ear  can  listen  to  his  music  alone,  to  which  that  of 
all  the  others  seems  a  mere  accompaniment.  Neither  is 
this  strain   altogether   imitative.     His    own  native    notes, 

10  which  are  easily  distinguishable  by  such  as  are  acquainted 
with  those  of  our  various  song  birds,  are  bold  and  full, 
and  varied  seemingly  beyond  all  limits.  They  consist  of 
short  expressions  of  two,  three,  or,  at  the  most,  five  or  six 
syllables,  generally  interspersed  with   imitations,    and   all 

15  of  them  uttered  with  great  emphasis  and  rapidity,  and 
continued  with  undiminished  ardor,  for  half  an  hour,  or 
an  hour,  at  a  time ;  his  expanded  wings  and  tail,  glisten- 
ing with  white,  and  the  buoyant  gaiety  of  his  action, 
arresting  the  eye,  as   his  song  most  irresistibly  does  the 

20  ear.  He  sweeps  round  with  enthusiastic  ecstasy.  He 
mounts  and  descends,  as  his  song  swells,  or  dies  away  ; 
and,  as  my  friend,  Mr.  Bartram,  has  beautifully  expressed 
it,  "  he  bounds  aloft  with  the  celerity  of  an  arrow,  as  if  to 
recover  or  recall  his  very  soul,  which  expired  in  the  last 

25  elevated  strain." 

While  thus  exerting  himself,  a  bystander,  destitute  of 
sight,  would  suppose  that  the  whole  feathered  tribe  had 
assembled  together,  on  a  trial  of  skill,  each  striving  to 
produce  his  utmost  effect: — so  perfect  are  his   imitations. 

30  He  many  times  deceives  the  sportsman,  and  sends  him  in 
search  of  birds  that  perhaps  are  not  within  miles  of  him, 
but  whose  noies  he  exactly  amitates.  Even  birds  them- 
selves are  frequently  imposed  on,  by  this  admirable 
mhnic,    and   are*  decoyed,   by  the    fancied   calls   of  their 

35  mates;  or  dive  with  precipitation  into  the  depths  of 
thickets,  at  the  scream  of  what  they  suppose  to  be  the 
sparrow-hawk.  

LESSON    CXXXIII. THE    EUROPEAN    AND    THE     AMERICAN     NA- 
TIONS. —  DANIEL   WEBSTER. 

In  many  respects,  the  European  and  the  American 
nations  are  alike.  They  are  alike  Christian  states,  civil- 
ized states,  and  commercial  states.  They  have  access  to 
the  same  common  fountains  of  intelligence ;  they  all  draw 


Mi  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  f^ART   U, 

from  those  sources  which  belong  to  the  whole  civilized 
world.  In  knowledge  and  letters, — in  the  arts  of  peace 
and  war, — they  differ  in  degrees ;  but  they  bear,  never- 
theless, a  general  resemblance. 
5  On  the  other  hand,  in  matters  of  government  and  social 
institution,  the  nations  on  this  continent  are  founded  upon 
principles  which  never  did  prevail,  in  considerable  extent 
either  at  any  other  time,  or  in  any  other  place.  There 
has  never  been  presented,  to  the  mind  of  man,  a  more 

10  interesting  subject  of  contemplation,  than  the  establish- 
ment of  so  many  nations  in  America,  partaking  in  the 
civilization,  and  in  the  arts  of  the  old  world,  but  having 
left  behind  them  those  cumbrous  institutions  which  had 
their  origin  in  a  dark  and  military  age. 

15  Whatsoever  European  experience  has  developed,  favor- 
able to  the  freedom  and  the  happiness  of  man  ;  whatso- 
ever European  genius  has  invented  for  his  improvement 
or  gratification ;  whatsoever  of  refinement  or  polish,  tho 
culture  of  European  society  presents,  for  his  adoption  and 

20  enjoyment, — all  this  is  offered  to  man  in  America,  with 
the  additional  advantages  of  the  full  power  of  erectiri  '• 
forms  of  government  on  free  and  simple  principles,  witli- 
out  overturning  institutions  suited  to  times  long  passed, 
but  too  strongly  supported,  either  by  interests  or  preju- 

25  dices,  to  be  shaken  without  convulsions. 

This  unprecedented  state  of  things,  presents  the  hap- 
piest of  all  occasions  for  an  attempt  to  establish  national 
intercourse  upon  improved  principles ;  upon  principles 
tending  to  peace  and  the  mutual  prosperity  of  nations. 

30  In  this  respect,  America,  the  whole  of  America,  has  a 
new  career  before  her.  If  we  look  back  on  the  history  of 
Europe,  we  see  how  great  a  portion  of  the  last  two  cen- 
turies, her  states  have  been  at  war,  for  interests  connected 
mainly  with  her  feudal  monarchies  ;  wars,  for  particular 

35  dynasties;  wars,  to  support  or  defeat  particular  succes- 
sions ;  wars,  to  enlarge  or  curtail  the  dominions  of  par- 
ticular crowns ;  wars,  to  support  or  to  dissolve  family 
alliances  ;  wars,  in  fine,  to  enforce  or  to  resist  religious 
intolerance.     What  long  and  bloody  chapters  do  the^e 

40  not  fill,  in  the  history  of  European  politics ! 

Who  does  not  see,  and  who  does  not  rejoice  to  sec, 
that  America  has  a  glorious  chance  of  escaping,  at  least, 
these  causes  of  contention?  Who  does  not  see,  and  who 
does  not  rejoice  to  sec,  that,  on  tliis  continent,  under  other 


»»ART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  265 

forms  of  government,  we  have  before  us  the  noble  hope 
of  being  able,  by  the  mere  influence  of  civil  liberty  and 
religious  toleration,  to  dry  up  these  outpouring  fountains 
of  blood,  and  to  extinguish  these  consuming  fires  of  war  ? 
6  The  general  opinion  of  the  age,  favors  such  hopes  and 
such  prospects.  There  is  a  growing  disposition  to  treat 
the  intercourse  of  nations  more  like  the  useful  intercourse 
of  friends  :  philosophy, — ^just  views  of  national  advantage, 
good  sense,  and  the  dictates  of  a  common  religion,  and  an 
10  increasing  conviction  that  war  is  not  the  interest  of  the 
human  race, — all  concur  to  increase  the  interest  created 
by  this  new  accession  to  the  list  of  nations. 


LESSON  CXXXIV. THE  TIMES,  THE  IMANNERS,  AND  THE  MEN. 

J.  R.  LOWELL. 

New  times  demand  new  measures  and  new  men ; 

The  world  advances,  and  in  time  outgrows 

The  laws  that  in  our  fathers'  day  were  best ; 

And,  doubtless,  after  us,  some  purer  scheme 
5     Will  be  shaped  out  by  wiser  men  than  we. 

Made  wiser  by  the  steady  growth  of  truth. 

We  cannot  bring  Utopia  at  once ; 

But  better  almost  be  at  work  in  sin, 

Than  in  a  brute  inaction  browse  and  sleep. 
10     No  man  is  born  into  the  world,  whose  work 

Is  not  born  with  him  ;   there  is  always  work, 

And  tools  to  work  withal,  for  those  who  will ; 

And  blessed  are  the  horny  hands  of  toil ! 

The  busy  world  shoves  angrily  aside 
15     The  man  who  stands  with  arms  akimbo  set, 

Until  occasion  tells  him  what  to  do ; 

And  he  who  waits  to  have  his  task  marked  out, 

Shall  die  and  leave  his  errand  unfulfilled. 

Our  time  is  one  that  calls  for  earnest  deeds. 
20     Reason  and  Government,  like  two  broad  seas, 

Yearn  for  each  other,  with  outstretched  arms 

Across  this  narrow  isthmus  of  the  throne, 

And  roll  their  white  surf  higher  every  day. 

The  field  lies  wide  before  us,  where  to  reap 
25     The  easy  harvest  of  a  deathless  name. 

Though  with  no  better  sickles  than  our  swords. 

My  soul  is  not  a  palace  of  the  past 
23 


266  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U 

Where  outworn  creeds,  like  Rome's  grey  senate,  quako 

Hearing  afar  the  Vandal's  trumpet  hoarse, 

That  shakes  old  systems  with  a  thunder-fit. 

The  time  is  ripe,  and  rotlcn-ripe  for  change : 
6     Then  let  it  come.     I  have  no  dread  of  what 

Is  called  for  by  the  instinct  of  mankind. 

Nor  think  I  that  God's  world  will  fall  apart 

Because  we  tear  a  parchment  more  or  less. 

Truth  is  eternal,  but  her  effluence, 
10     With  endless  change,  is  fitted  to  the  hour ; 

Her  mirror  is  turned  forward,  to  reflect 

The  promise  of  the  future,  not  the  past. 

I  do  not  fear  to  follow  out  the  truth, 

Albeit  along  the  precipice's  edge. 
16     Let  us  speak  plain  :  there  is  more  force  in  names 

Than  most  men  dream  of;  and  a  lie  may  keep 

Its  throne  a  whole  age  longer,  if  it  skulk 

Behind  the  shield  of  some  fair  seeming  name. 

Let  us  call  tyrants  t7/ra?its,  and  maintain 
20     That  only  freedom  comes  by  grace  of  God, 

And  all  that  comes  not  by  His  grace  must  fall ; 

For  men*in  earnest  have  no  time  to  waste 

In  patching  fig-leaves  for  the  naked  truth. 


LESSON  CXXXV. LIBERTY   TO   ATHENS. JAMES  G.  PERCIViX 

The  flag  of  freedom  floats  once  more 

Around  the  lofty  Parthenon  ; 
It  waves,  as  waved  the  palm  of  yore, 

In  days  departed  long  and  gone ; 
6  As  bright  a  glory  from  the  skies. 

Pours  down  its  light  around  those  towers, 
And  once  again  the  Greeks  arise, 

As  in  their  country's  noblest  hours ; 
Their  swords  are  girt  in  virtue's  cause, 
10  Minerva's  sacred  hill  is  free, — 

Oh  !  may  she  keep  her  equal  laws, 

While  man  shall  live,  and  tune  shall  be ! 

The  pride  of  all  her  shrines  went  down  ; 
The  Goth,  the  Frank,  the  Turk  had  reft 
15  The  laurel  from  her  civic  crown  ; 

Her  helm  by  many  a  sword  was  cleft  * 


PAET   U.]  READER   AND   SPEAKKR.  267 

She  lay  among  her  ruins  low, — 

Where  grew  the  palm,  the  cypress  rose, 

And,  crushed  and  bruised  by  many  a  blow, 
5  She  cowered  beneath  her  savage  foes  ; 

But  now,  again  she  springs  from  earth, 
Her  loud,  awakening  trumpet  speaks  ; 

She  rises  in  a  brighter  birth. 

And  sounds  redemption  to  the  Greeks. 

10  It  is  the  classic  jubilee, — 

Their  servile  years  have  rolled  away ; 
The  clouds  that  hovered  o'er  them  flee, 

They  hail  the  dawn  of  freedom's  day ; 
From  Heaven  the  golden  light  descends, 
i5  The  times  of  old  are  on  the  wing, 

And  glory  there  her  pinion  benda. 

And  beauty  wakes  a  fairer  spring ; 
The  hills  of  Greece,  her  rocks,  her  waves, 
Are  all  in  triumph's  pomp  arrayed ; 
20  A  light  that  points  their  tyrants'  graves, 

Plays  round  each  bold  Athenian's  blade. 


LESSON   CXXXVI. THE    ARSENAL   AT   SPRINGFIELD.— 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

This  is  the  Arsenal.     From  floor  to  ceiling 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnished  arms ; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villagers  with  strange  alarms. 

5     Ah  !  what  a  sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary. 
When  the  Death-Angel  touches  those  swift  keys  ! 
What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies  ! 

I  hear,  even  now,  the  infinite  fierce  chorus, 
10         The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan, — 

Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us, 
In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer. 

Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norseman's  song, 
15     And  loud  amid  the  universal  clamor, 

O'er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartai  gong. 


4 


"••' 


2>69  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  n 

I  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 
Wheels  out  his  ballle-bell  with  dreadful  din, 

And  Aztec  priests,  upon  their  teocallis, 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent's  skin. 

5     The  tumult  of  each  sacked  and  burning  village ; 
The  shout,  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns ; 
The  soldiers'  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage, 
The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns  ! 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched  asunder, 
10         The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade  ; 
And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

Is  it,  0  man,  with  such  discordant  noises. 
With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 
15     Thou  drownest  nature's  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 
And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies  ? 

Were  half  the  power  that  fills  the  world  with  terror, 

Were  half  the  wealth  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts, 
Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error, 
20         There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  and  forts. 

The  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  abhorred ! 

And  every  nation  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  its  brother,  on  its  forehead 

Would  wear  for  evermore  the  curse  of  Cain  !     ^^dSL 

25     Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations. 

The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter,  and  then  cease ; 
And,  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  "  Peace  ! " 

Peace  !  and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 
30         The  blast  of  War's  groat  organ  shakes  the  skies ! 
But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals. 
The  holy  melodies  of  Love  arise. 


LESSON   CXXXVIL IMMORTALITY. RICHARD  H.  DANA,  SEW, 

Is  this  thy  prison-house,  thy  grave,  then.  Love  ? 
And  doth  Death  cancel  the  great  bond  that  holds 
Commingling  spirits  ?   Are  thoughts  that  know  no  bounds 
But,  self-inspired,  rise  upward,  searchinirout 
>  The  Eternal  Mind, — the  Father  of  all  thought. — 


PART  II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  269 

Are  they  become  mere  tenants  of  a  tomb  ? — 
Dwellers  in  darkness,  who  the  illuminate  realms 
Of  uncreated  light  have  visited,  and  lived  ? — 
Lived  in  the  dreadful  splendor  of  that  throne, 
6  Which  One,  with  gentle  hand,  the  veil  of  flesh 
Lifting,  that  hung  'twixt  man  and  it,  revealed 
In  glory  ? — ihrone,  before  which,  even  now, 
Our  souls,  moved  by  prophetic  power,  bow  down, 
Rejoicing,  yet  at  their  own  natures  awed  ? 
10  Souls,  that  Thee  know  by  a  mysterious  sense. 

Thou  awful,  unseen  Presence  !  are  they  quenched  ? 
Or  burn  they  on,  hid  from  our  mortal  eyes 
By  that  bright  day  which  ends  not  ;  as  the  sun 
His  robe  of  light  flings  round  the  glittering  stars  ? 

15       And  with  our  frames  do  perish  all  our  loves  ? 
Do  those  that  took  their  root,  and  put  forth  buds, 
And  their  soft  leaves  unfolded,  in  the  warmth 
Of  mutual  hearts,  grow  up  and  live  in  beauty, 
Then  fade  and  fall,  like  fair  unconscious  flowers  i 

20  Are  thoughts  and  passions,  that  to  the  tongue  give  speecb, 
And  make  it  send  forth  winning  harmonies, — 
That  to  the  cheek  do  give  its  living  glow, 
And  vision  in  the  eye  the  soul  intense 
With  that  for  which  there  is  no  utterance, — 

25  Are  these  the  body's  accidents  ? — no  more  ? — 
To  live  in  it,  and,  when  that  dies,  go  out 
Like  the  burnt  taper's  flame  ? 

Oh  !  listen,  man  ! 
A  voice  within  us  speaks  that  startling  word, 

30  "Man,  thou  shalt  never  die  !"     Celestial  voices 
Hymn  it  unto  our  souls  ;  according  harps, 
By  angel  fingers  touched,  when  the  mild  stars 
Of  morning:  sans:  toofether,  sound  forth  still 
The  song  of  our  great  immortality  : 

35  Thick  clustering  orbs,  and  this  our  fair  Qomam, 
Tne  tall,  dark  mountains,  and  the  deep-toned  seas 
Join  in  this  solemn,  universal  song. 
Oh !  listen,  ye,  our  spirits ;  drink  it  in 
From  all  the  air.     'T  is  in  the  gentle  moonlight ; 

40  'T  is  floating  midst  Day's  setting  glories  ;  Night, 
Wrapped  in  her  sable  robe,  with  silent  step 
Comes  to  our  bed,  and  breathes  it  in  our  ears  : 
Night,  and  the  dawn,  bright  day,  mid  ihoujrhtful  eve, 
23^^ 


270  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAIT  IL 

All  lime,  all  bounds,  the  limitless  expanse, 
As  one  vast  my^^tic  instmmcnt,  are  touched 
By  an  unseen,  living  Hand,  and  conscious  chords 
Quiver  with  joy  in  this  great  jubilee. 
6  The  dying  hear  it ;  and,  as  sounds  of  earth 
Grow  dull  and  distant,  wake  their  passing  souls 
To  mingle  in  this  heavenly  harmony. 

LESSON    CXXXVin. THE    GRAY    OLD    MAN    OF    THE    MOUNTAIN  — 

HARRY    HIBBARD. 

[A  Natural  Image  in  Franconia  Mountain  Notch.] 

Where  a  tall  post  beside  the  road  displays 
Its  lettered  arm,  pointing  the  traveller's  eye. 
Through  the  small  opening  mid  the  green  birch  trees, 
Toward  yonder  mountain  summit  towering  high, 
5       There  pause.     What  doth  thy  anxious  gaze  espy  ? 
A  crag  abrupt  hung  from  the  mountain's  brow ! 
Look  closer  !  scan  that  bare  sharp  clifT  on  high ; 
Aha  !  the  wondrous  shape  bursts  on  thee  now ! 
A  perfect  human  face, — neck,  chin,  mouth,  nose,  and  brow! 

10       And  full  and  plain  those  features  are  displayed, 

Thus  profiled  forth  against  the  clear  blue  sky ; 

As  though  some  sculptor's  chisel  here  had  made 

This  fragment  of  colossal  imagery, 

The  compass  of  his  plastic  art  to  try. 
15       From  the  curved  neck  up  to  the  shaggy  hair 

That  shoots  on  pine  trees  from  the  head  on  high, 

All,  all  is  perfect :  no  illusions  there 
To  cheat  the  expecting  eye  with  fancied  forms  of  air  ! 

Most  wondrous  vision  !  the  broad  earth  hath  not, 
20       Through  all  her  bounds,  an  object  like  to  thee, 

That  traveller  e'er  recorded,  nor  a  spot 

More  fit  to  stir  the  poet's  phantasy. 

Gray  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  awfully 

There  from  thy  wreath  of  clouds  thou  dost  uprear 
25       Those  features  grand,  the  same  eternally  ! 

Lone  dweller  mid  the  hills !  with  gaze  austere 
Thou  lookest  down,  methinks,  on  all  below  thee  here  ! 

And  curious  travellers  have  descried  the  trace 
Of  the  sage  Franklin's  physiognomy 
30       In  that  most  grave  and  philosophic  face. 
If  it  be  true.  Old  Man,  that  we  do  see 
Sage  Franklin's  countenance,  thou  indeed  must  be" 


1 


FART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  271 

A  learned  philosopher  most  wise  and  staid,     ^ 
From  all  that  thou  hast  had  a  chance  to  see,    ^ 
Since  Earth  began.     Here  thou,  too,  oft  hast  played 
With  lightnings,  glancing  round  thy  rugged  hej^d. 


LESSON  CXXXIX. — THE    NOVEL   READER. CHARLES    SPRAGUE. 

Look  now,  directed  by  yon  candle's  blaze. 
Where  the  false  shutter  half  its  trust  betrays, — 
Mark  that  fair  girl,  reclining  in  her  bed. 
Its  curtain  round  her  polished  shoulders  spread : 
5         Dark  midnight  reigns,  the  storm  is  up  in  power; 
What  keeps  her  waking  in  that  dreary  hour? 
See  where  the  volume  on  her  pillow  lies, — 
Claims  Radcliflfe  or  Chapone  those  frequent  sighs  ? 
'Tis  some  wild  legend, — now  her  kind  eye  fills, 

10         And  now  cold  terror  every  fibre  chills  ; 

Still  she  reads  on, — in  fiction's  labyrinth  lost, 
Of  tyrant  fathers,  and  of  true  love  crossed  : 
Of  clanking  fetters,  low,  mysterious  groans. 
Blood-crusted  daggers,  and  uncoffined  bones, 

15         Pafe,  gliding  ghosts,  with  fingers  dropping  gore, 

And  blue  flames  dancing  round  a  dungeon  door ; — 
Still  she  reads  on, — even  though  to  read  she  fears, 
And  in  each  key-hole  moan  strange  voices  hears, 
While  every  shadow  that  withdraws  her  look, 

20         Glares  in  her  face  the  goblin  of  her  book  ; 
Still  o'er  the  leaves  her  craving  eye  is  cast ; 
On  all  she  feasts,  yet  hungers  for  the  last ; 
Counts  what  remain,  now  sighs  there  are  no  more, 
And  now  even  those  ha!f  tempted  to  skip  o'er ; 

2o         At  length,  the  bad  all  killed,  the  good  all  pleased. 
Her  thirsting  curiosity  appeased. 
She  shuts  the  dear,  dear  book,  that  made  her  weep, 
Puts  out  the  light,  and  turns  away  to  sleep. 


LESSON  CXL. MOUNTAINS  OF  NEW  HAMPSHIRE. ISAAC  HILL. 

The  highest  mountains,  within  the  known  limits  of  the 
old  thirteen  United  States,  are  the  cluster  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, called  the  White  ISIountains.  These  mountains  are 
supposed  to  be  older  than  any  of  the  ranges  of  high 
6  mountains  in  Europe.  Mont  Blanc,  and  Mont  St.  Ber- 
nard, may  peer  above  them,  and  reach  their  tops  beyond 


ITS  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  H. 

the  line  of  perpetual  congelation  ;  but  Mount  Washington 
had  ^en  thousands  of  years  in  existence,  before  the  inter- 
nal fires  upheaved  the  European  Alps. 

The  beauty  and  grandeur  of  scenery  in  Scotland,  or 

5  Switzerland,   or    any    other   country   of  Europe,   cannot 

exceed,  that  of  this  mountain  region.     What  magnificent 

landscape  will  compare  with  the  different  views  at  the 

Notch  ; — with  the   Silver   Cascade,  half  a  mile  from   its 

,  entrance,  issuing  from  the  mountain  eight  hundred  feet 

10  above  the  subjacent  valley,  passing  over,  almost  perpen- 
dicularly, a  series  of  rocks  so  little  broken,  as  to  preserve 
the  appearance  of  a  uniform  current,  and  yet  so  far  dis- 
turbed, as  to  be  perfectly  white  ; — with  the  Flume,  at  no 
great    distance,    falling    over    three    precipices,   from    the 

15  height  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  down  the  two  first  in  a 
single  current,  and  over  the  last  in  three,  uniting  again  at. 
the  bottom  in  a  basin,  formed  by  the  hand  of  Nature,  per- 
haps by  the  wearing  of  the  waters,  in  the  rocks ; — with  the 
impending  rocks,  directly  overhead  on  either  side,  to  a  vast 

20  height,  rent  asunder  by  that  Power  which  first  upheaved 
the  mountains,  leaving  barely  space  for  the  head  stream 
of  the  Saco,  and  the  road  to  pass  ; — with  the  track  of  the 
awful  avalanches,  at  no  great  distance,  on  either  side, 
coming  down  from  the  height,  throwing  rocks,  trees,  and 

25  earth  across  the  defile,  damming  up  the  stream,  and  forc- 
ing it  to  seek  new  channels,  and  covering  up  or  carrying 
away,  clean  to  the  surface  of  the  hard  rock,  the  long 
travelled  road  !   * 

If  the  eye  is  not  here  sated,  with  the  grandeur  and 

30  beauty  of  the  stupendous  works  of  the  Almighty,  and  the 

changes  he  has  wrought,  let  the  traveller  pass  into  the 

Franconia  Notch,  near  the  source  of  the  Merrimack  river, 

twenty  miles  southerly  of  the  White  Mountain  Notch. 

The  Man  of  the  Mountain  has  long  been  personated 

35  and  apostrophized ;  his  covered  head  is  the  sure  forerun- 
ner of  the  thunder  shower  or  storm  ;  and,  in  the  world  of 
fiction,  he  is  made  the  main  agent  of  the  mountain  genji,  ■ 
who  bewilder  and  mislead  the  benighted  traveller,  and  ' 
whose  lodgment  is  in  the  rocky  caverns,  hitherto  unfre- 

40  quented  by  the  human  tread.  The  Profile  is  perched  at 
the  height  of  more  than  a  thousand  feet :  the  solid  rock 
presents  a  side  view  or  profile  of  the  human  face,  every 
feature  of  which,  in  the  due  proportion,  is  conspicuous. 
It  is  no  inanimate  profile :  it  looks  the  living  man^  as  if 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  273 

his  voice  could  reach  to  the  proportiot^^e  jdialanpt_^ 
greater  size.  '^"^^mmtf'^^ 

The  mountain  region  of  New  Hampshire,  has  been 
denominated  the  Switzerland  of  America.  Our  scenery 
5  is  surpassed,  in  beauty,  by  no  scenery  on  earth.  Coming 
down  from  our  mountains,  I  would  direct  your  attention 
to,  our  beautiful  lakes.  The  eye  never  traced  a  more 
splendid  prospect,  than  the  view  from  Red  Hill.  The 
view  from  Mount  Washington,    shows   the   high  moun- 

10  tains  around,  as  successive  dark  waves  of  the  sea,  at  your 
feet,  and  all  other  objects,  the  villages  and  the  sea,  as  more 
indistinct  from  their  distance. 

The  view  from  Red  Hill,  an  elevation  of  some  twenty- 
five  hundred  feet,  which  is  gained  on  horseback,  brings 

15  all  objects  distinctly  to  the  naked  eye.  On  the  one  hand, 
the  Winnipiseogee  lake,  twenty-two  miles  in  length,  with 
its  bays,  and  islands,  and  surrounding  villages,  and  farms 
of  parti-colored  fields,  spreads  out  like  a  field  of  glass,  at 
the  southeast.     Loch  Lomond,  with  all  its  splendor  and 

20  beauty,  presents  no  scenery  that  is  not  equalled  in  the 
environs  of  the  Winnipiseogee.  Its  suite  of  hills  and 
mountains,  serves  as  a  contrast,  to  increase  its  splendor. 
We  stand  upon  the  higher  of  the  three  points  of  Red  Hill, 
limited  everywhere  by  regular  circular  lines,  and  elegant 

25  in  its  figure  beyond  most  other  mountains.  The  autum- 
nal foliage,  overspreading  the  ranges  of  mountains,  in  the 
season  after  vegetation  has  been  arrested  by  the  frosts,  is 
a  beauty  in  our  scenery  that  has  never  been  described 
by   any   inhabitant  cf  Great   Britain,  because   no   such 

30  scenery  ever  there  existed. 

If  Mr.  Jefferson  thought  a  single  point  upon  the  Poto- 
mac, where  that  river  breaks  through  the  Blue  Ridge,  to 
be  worth,  to  the  European  observer,  a  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic,  will  it  be  deemed  extravagant,  if  I  should  say  to 

35  the  inhabitants  of  a  town  or  city  of  the  United  States,  any- 
where along  thp  Atlantic  Ocean,  that  the  Notch  of  the 
White  Hills,  the  Notch  of  the  Franconia  mountains,  the 
Cascade,  or  the  Flume,  or  the  Face  of  the  Old  Man,  or 
the  view  from  Red  Hill,  one  alone,  or  all  together,  are 

40  worth  ten  times  the  expense  and  labor  of  a  journey  of  one 
hundred,  five  hundred,  or  one  thousand  miles  ? 


274  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U 

LESSON   CXLI. — LOCAL   ASSOCIATIONS. — HARRISON   GRAY  OTIS. 

Among  all  the  objects  of  meiKal  association,  ancient 
buildings  and  ruins  affect  us  with  the  deepest  and  most 
vivid  emotions.  They  were  the  works  of  beings  like 
ourselves.  WTiile  a  mist,  impervious  to  mortal  view, 
6  hangs  over  the  future,  all  our  fond  imaginings  of  the 
things,  which  "eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard,"  in  the 
eternity  to  come,  are  inevitably  associated  with  the  men, 
the  events  and  things,  which  have  gone  to  join  the  eter- 
nity that  is  past. 

10  When  imagination  has  in  vain  essayed  to  rise  beyond 
the  stars,  which  '*  proclaim  the  story  of  their  birth,"  inquis- 
itive to  know  the  occupations  and  condition  of  the  sages 
and  heroes,  whom  we  hope  to  join  in  a  higher  empyrean, 
she  drops  her  weary   wing,  and  is  compelled  to  alight 

15  among  the  fragments  of  "gorgeous  palaces  and  cloud- 
capped  towers,"  which  cover  their  human  ruins,  and,  by 
aid  of  these  localities,  to  ruminate  upon  their  virtues,  and 
their  faults,  on  their  deeds  in  the  cabinet,  and  in  the  field, 
and  upon  the  revolutions  of  the  successive  ages  in  which 

20  they  lived.  To  this  propensity  may  be  traced  the  subli- 
mated feelings  of  the  man,  who,  familiar  with  the  stories 
of  Sesostris,  the  Pharaohs,  and  the  Ptolemies,  surveys  the 
pyramids,  not  merely  as  stupendous  fabrics  of  mechanical 
skill,  but  as  monuments  of  the  pride  and  ambitious  folly 

^■5  of  kings,  and  of  the  debasement  and  oppression  of  the 
wretched  myriads,  by  whose  labors  they  were  raised  to 
the  skies.  ^To  this  must  be  referred  the  awe  and  contri- 
tion, which  solemnize  and  melt  the  heart  of  the  Christian, 
who  looks  into  the  holy  sepulchre,  and  believes  he  sees 

30  the  place  where  the  Lord  was  laid. 

From  this  originate  the  musings  of  the  scholar,  who, 
amid  the  ruins  of  the  Parthenon  and  the  Acropolis,  trans- 
ports his  imagination  to  the  age  of  Pericles  and  Phidias ; 
— the   reflections   of  all,   not    dead    to    sentiment,    who 

35  descend  to  the  subterranean  habitations  of  Pompeii, — 
handle  the  utensils  that  once  ministered  to  the  wants,  and 
the  ornaments  subservient  to  the  luxury,  of  a  polished 
city, — behold  the  rut  of  wheels  upon  the  pavement  hidden 
for  ages  from  human  sight, — and  realize  the  awful  hour, 

40  when  the  hum  of  industry,  and  the  song  of  joy,  the  wail- 
ing of  the  infant,  and  the  garrulity  of  age,  wer*-  suddenly 


PART    II.]  READER    AJSD   SPEAKER.  275 

and  forever  silenced  by  the  fiery  deluge,  whicli  buried  the 
city,  until  accident  and  industry,  after  the  lapse  of  nearly 
eighteen  centuries,  revealed  its  ruins  to  the  curiosity  and 
cupidity  of  the  passing  age. 


LESSON    CXLII. CHARACTER    OF.  JULIUS    C^SAR. — KflOwleS, 

[Extract  from  a  Debate  for  Young  Speakers.] 

First  Speaker. — "Was  Caesar  a  great  man?" — What 
revolution  has  taken  place  in  the  first  appointed  govern- 
ment of  the  universe — what  new  and  opposite  principle 
has  begun  to  direct  the  operations  of  nature — what  refu- 
5  tation  of  their  long  established  precepts  has  deprived 
reason  of  her  sceptre,  and  virtue  of  her  throne,  that  a 
character  which  forms  the  noblest  theme  that  ever  merit 
gave  to  fame,  should  now  become  a  question  for  debate  ? 
No  painter  of  human  excellence,  if  he  would  draw  the 

10  features  of  that  hero's  character,  needs  study  a  favorable 
light,  or  striking  attitude.  In  every  posture  it  has  majesty ; 
and  the  lineaments  of  its  beauty  are  prominent  in  every 
point  of  view. 

It  is  a  generally  received  opinion,  that  uncommon  cir- 

15  cumstances  make  uncommon  men, — Caesar  was  an  uncom- 
mon man,  in  common  circumstances.  The  colossal  mind 
commands  your  admiration,  no  less  in  the  pirate's  captive, 
than  in  the  victor  of  Pharsalia.  Who,  but  the  first  of  his 
race,  could   have    made   vassals  of  his    savage   masters, 

20  mocked  them  into  reverence  of  his  superior  nature,  and 
threatened,  with  security,  the  power  that  held  him  at  its 
mercy  ?  Of  all  the  striking  incidents  of  Caesar's  life,  had 
history  preserved  for  us  but  this  single  one,  it  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  make  us  fancy  all  the  rest — at  least  we 

25  should  have  said,  "  Such  a  man  was  born  to  conquest,  and 
to  empire  ! " 

To  expatiate  on  Oaisar's  powers  of  oratory,  would  only 
be  to  add  one  poor  eulogium  to  the  testimony  of  the  first 
historians.    Cicero,  himself,  grants  him  the  palm  of  almost 

30  preeminent  merit ;  and  seems  at  a  loss  for  words  to  express 
his  admiration  of  him.  His  voice  was  musical,  his  deliv- 
ery energetic,  his  language  chaste  and  rich,  appropriate 
and  peculiar.  And  it  is  well  presumed,  that,  had  he 
studied  the  art  of  public  speaking,  with  as  much  industry 


878  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  Ii 

ns  he  studied  the.  art  of  %var,  he  would  have  been  the  first 
of  orators.  Quintilian  says,  he  would  have  been  the  only 
man  capable  of  combating  Cicero ;  but  gmnting  them  to 
have  been  equal  in  ability,  what  equal  contest  could  the 
5  timid  Cicero — whose  nerves  fail  him,  and  whose  tongue 
falters,  when  the  forum  glitters  with  arms — what  equal 
contest  could  he  have  held  with  the  man,  whose  vigor 
chastised  the  Belga),  and  annihilated  the  Nervii,  that  main- 
tained dieir  ground  till  they  were  hewn  to  pieces  on  the 

10  spot ! 

His  abilities  as  a  master  of  comj)osition  were  undoubt- 
edly of  the  first  order.  How  admirable  is  the  structure  of 
his  Commentaries!  What  perspicuity  and  animation  are 
there  in  the  details  !    You  fancy  yourself  upon  the  field  of 

15  action  !  You  follow  the  development  of  his  plans,  with 
the  liveliest  curiosity !  You  look  on  with  unwearied  atten- 
tion, as  he  fortifies  his  camp,  or  invests  his  enemy,  or 
crosses  the  impetuous  torrent ! — You  behold  his  legions,  as 
they  move  forward,  from  difllerent  points,  to  the  line  of 

20  battle — you  hear  the  shout  of  the  onset,  and  the  crash  of 
the  encounter;  and,  breathless  with  suspense,  mark  every 
fluctuation  of  the  awful  tide  of  war  ! 

As  a  politician,  how  consummate  was  his  address ! — 
How  grand  his  projections  ! — How  happy  the  execution  of 

25  his  measures  !  He  governs  his  province  with  such  equity, 
and  wisdom,  as  add  a  milder,  but  a  fairer  lustre  to  his 
glory ;  and,  by  their  fame,  prepare  the  Ronftin  people  for 
his  happy  yoke.  Upon  the  very  eve  of  his  rupture  with 
Pompey,  he  sends  back,  on  demand,  the  borrowed  legions, 

30  covering  with  rewards  the  soldiers  that  may  no  longer  serve 
him,  and  whose  weapons  on  the  morrow,  may  be  turned 
against  his  breast — presenting  here  a  noble  example  of  his 
respect  of  right,  and  of  that  magnanimity  which  main- 
tains that  gratitude  should  not  cease,  though  benefits  are 

35  discontinued.  When  he  reigns  sole  master  of  the  Roman 
world,  how  temperate  is  his  triumph  ! — how  scrupulous  his 
respect  for  the  very  forms  of  the  laws  !  He  discountenances 
the  profligacy  of  the  jxitriciaps,  and  endeavors  to  preserve 
the  virtue  of  the  state,  by  laying  wholesome  restraints  upon 

40  luxury.     He  encourages  the  arts  and  ^<  * 
genius  and  talent,  respects  religion  and  j 
practice  every  means  that  can  contribute  to  the  welfare, 
the  happiness,  and  the  stability  of  the  empire. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  recount  tho  military  exploits  of 


I 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  277 

Caesar.  Why  should  I  compi'l  your  attention  to  follow 
him,  for  the  hundredth  time,  through  hostile  myriads, 
yielding,  at  every  encounter,  to  the  force  of  his  invincible 
arms  ?  As  a  captain,  he  was  the  first  of  warriors ;  nor 
5  were  his  valor  and  skill  more  admirable  than  his  absti- 
nence and  watchfulness,  his  disregard  of  ease  and  his 
endurance  of  labor,  his  moderation  and  his  mercy.  Per- 
haps, indeed,  this  last  quality  forms  the  most  prominent 
feature  in  his  character ;  and  proves,  by  the  consequences 

10  of  its  excess,  that  virtue  itself  requires  restraint,  and  has  its 
proper  bounds,  which  it  ought  not  to  exceed — for  Caesar's 
moderation  was  his  ruin  ! 

That  Caesar  had  a  heart  susceptible  of  friendship,  and 
alive  to  the  finest  touches  of  humanity,  is  unquestionable. 

15  Why  does  he  attempt  so  often  to  avert  the  storm  of  civil 
war? — Why  does  he  pause  so  long  upon  the  brink  of  the 
Rubicon  ? — Why  does  he  weep  when  he  beholds  the  head 
of  his  unfortunate  rival  ?  Why  does  he  delight  in  pardoning 
his  enemies — even  those  very  men  that  had  deserted  him  ? 

20  It  seems  as  if  he  lived  the  lover  of  mankind,  and  fell — 
as  the  bard  expresses  it — vanquished,  not  so  much  by  the 
weapons,  as  by  the  ingratitude  of  his  murderers. 

If  a  combination  of  the  most  splendid  talents  for  ^var 
with  the  most  sacred  love  of  peace — of  the  most  illustrious 

25  public  virtue  with  the  most  endearing  private  worth — of 
the  most  unyielding  courage  with  the  most  accessible 
moderation,  may  constitute  a  great  man,  that  title  must  be 
Caesar's  ! 

Second  Speaker. — No  change  has  taken  place  in  the 
30  first  appointed  government  of  the  universe — the  operations  of 
nature  acknowledge,  now,  the  same  principle  that  they  did 
in  the  beginning — reason  still  holds  her  sceptre,  virtue  still 
fills  her  throne ;  and  the  epithet  of  great  does  not  belong 
to  Caesar  ! 
35       I  would  lay  it  down,  as  an  unquestionable  position,  that 
the  worth  of  talents  is  to  be  estimated  only  by  the  use  we 
make  of  them.     If  we  employ  them  in  the  cause  of  virtue, 
their  value  is  great ;  if  we  employ  them  in  the  cause  of 
vice,  they  are  less  than  worthless — they  are  pernicious  and 
10  vile.     Now,  let  us  examine  Caesar's  talents  by  this  prin- 
ciple, and  we  shall  find,  that,  neither  as  an  orator,  nor  as 
a  politician — neither  as  a  >\'urrior,  nor  as  a  friend — was 
Caesar  a  ^reat  man ! 
25 


f 


2J8  MBRICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  O. 

If  1  were  asked,  "What  was  the  first,  the  second,  and 
the  last  principle  of  the  virtuous  mind  ?"  I  should  repl} 
"It  was  the  love  of  country.*'  It  is  the  love  of  parent, 
brother,  friend  I — the  love  of  man  ! — the  love  of  honor, 
5  virtue,  and  relig^ion  I — the  love  of  every  C^ood  and  virtuous 
deed! — I  say,  then,  if  I  were  asked,  **  What  was  the  first, 
the  second,  and  the  last  principle  of  the  virtuous  mind?" 
I  should  reply,  "  It  was  the  love  of  country  I "  Without  it, 
man  is  the  basest  of  his  kind ! — a  selfish,  cunning,  narrow 

10  speculator ! — a  trader  in  the  dearest  interests  of  his  species ! 
— reckless  of  every  tie  of  nature — sentiment — affection ! 
What  was  Caesar's  oratory  ? — How  far  did  it  prove  him  to 
be  actuated  by  the  love  of  country  ?  It  justified,  for  politi- 
cal   interest,    the    invader   of  his   honor ; — sheltered   the 

15  incendiary  I — abetted  treason  ! — flattered  the  people  into 
their  own  undoing! — assailed  the  liberties  of  his  country 
and  bawled  into  silence  every  virtuous  patriot  that  strug- 
gled to  uphold  them !  He  would  have  been  a  greater 
orator  than  Cicero  I    I  question  the  assertion — I  deny  that 

20  it  is  correct ! — He  would  have  been  a  greater  orator  than 
Cicero !  Well  I — let  it  pass — he  might  have  been  a  greater 
orator,  but  he  never  could  have  been  so  great  a  man. 
Which  way  soever  he  had  directed  his  talents,  the  same 
inordinate  ambition  would  have  led  to  the  same  results ; 

25  and,  had  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  oratory,  h\i> 
tongue  had  produced  the  same  effects  as  his  sword ;  and 
equally  desolated  the  human  kingdom. 

But  Cajsar  is  to  be  admired  as  a  politician !     I  do  not 
pretend  to  define  the  speaker's  idea  of  a  politician ;  but  1 

30  shall  attempt  to  put  you  in  possession  of  mine.  By  n 
politician,  I  understand  a  man  who  studies  the  laws  of 
prudence  and  of  justice,  as  they  are  applicable  to  the  wisf 
and  happy  government  of  a  people,  and  the  reciprocal  obli- 
gations of  states.    Now,  how  far  was  Cajsar  to  be  admired 

l^d  as  a  politician  ?     He  makes  war  upon  the  innocent  Span 
iards,  that  his  military  talents  may  not  suffer  from  inaction. 
This  was  a  ready  way  to  preserve  the  peace  of  his  provincr. 
and  to  secure  its  loyalty  and  affection  !     That  he  may  b. 
recorded  as  the  first  Koman  that  had  ever  crossed  th- 

40  Rhine  in  a  hostile  manner,  he  invades  the   unoffendini 
Germans,  lays  waste  their  territories  with  fire,  and  phin 
ders  and  sacks  their  country.    Here  was  a  noble  policy!- 
that  planted  in  the  minds  of  a  brave  and  formidable  peopl" 
the  ^tal  seed:^  of  that  revenge  and  hatred,  wliich  finally 


I 


« 


PART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  279 

assisted  in  accomplishing  the  destruction  of  the  Roman 
empire  !  In  short,  CaDsar's  views  were  not  of  that  enlarg«,'d 
nature  which  could  entitle  him  to  the  name  of  a  great 
politician ;  for  he  studied,  not  the  happiness  and  interest 
5  of  a  community,  hut  merely  his  own  advancement,  which 
he  accomplished — hy  violating  the  laws,  and  destroying 
the  liberties,  of  his  country. 

That  Caesar  was  a  great  conqueror,  I  do  not  care  to  dis- 
pute.    His  admirers  are  welcome  to  all  the  advantages 

10  that  result  from  such  a  position.  I  will  not  subtmct  one 
victim  from  the  hosts  that  perished  for  his  fame ;  or  abate, 
by  a  single  groan,  the  sufferings  of  his  vanquished  enemies. 
But  I  will  avow  it  to  be  my  opinion,  that  the  character 
of  a  great  conqueror  does  not  necessarily  constitute  that 

15  of  a  great  man ;  nor  can  the  recital  of  CoBsar's  victories 
produce  any  other  impression  upon  my  mind,  than  what 
proceeds  from  the  contemplation  of  those  convulsions  of 
the  earth,  which,  in  a  moment,  inundate  with  ruin  the 
plains  of  fertility  and  the  abodes  of  peace ;    or,  at  one 

20  shock,  convert  whole  cities  into  the  graves  of  their  living 
population ! 

But  Caesar's  munificence,  his  clemency,  his  moderation, 
and  his  affectionate  nature,  constitute  him  a  great  man ! 
What  was  his  munificence,  his  clemency,  or  his  modera- 

25  tion  ? — the  automaton  of  his  ambition  !  It  knew  no  aspi- 
ration from  the  Deity.  It  was  a  thing  from  the  hands  of 
the  mechanician  ! — an  ingenious  mockery  of  nature  !  Its 
action  seemed  spontaneous — its  look  argued  a  soul — but 
all  the  virtue  lay  in  the  finger  of  the  operator.     He  could 

30  possess  no  real  munificence,  moderation,  or  clemency,  who 
ever  expected  his  gifts  to  be  doubled  by  return — who  never 
abstained,  but  with  a  view  to  excess ;  nor  spared,  but  for 
the  indulgence  of  rapacity. 


LESSON   CXLIII. —  A  REPUBLICAN  SCHOOL-ROOM. A.  B.  MUZZEV. 

The  success  of  all  human  enterprises  depends  much  on 
the  importance  attached  to  them,  the  dignity  they  assume 
in  our  view,  and  the  associations  which  circle  round  them. 
The  orators  of  immortal  renown,  in  ancient  times,  were 
6  acci^stomed  to  invest  the  themes  they  discussed  with  a 
peculiar  greatness,  and  to  throw  a  halo  of  glory  around 


280  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAIT   11 

the  occasion  that  had  convened  their  audience.  But  there 
is  one  assembly,  unknown  to  their  days,  and  compared 
with  which  their  proudest  conventions  fade,  as  the  morn- 
ing star  before  coming  day.  It  is  in  the  school-room  in  a 
5  republic,  the  place  where,  in  a  land  favored  like  our  own, 

•  the  children  of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  of  the  obscure  and 
the  honored,  are  seated  side  by  side.  This  spectacle  was 
reserved  for  a  modern  age  ;  and  if,  of  old,  the  thought  of 
that  influence,  which  an  eloquent  voice  may  exert  over  an 

10  audience  of  mature  minds,  fixed  habits,  and  established 
principles,  was  so  inspiring,  what  is  not  the  legitimate 
effect  of  contemplating  a  collection  of  immortal  beings, 
brought  together  for  the  culture  of  their  noblest  powers,  at 
the  earliest,  and,  therefore,  the  most  decisive  period  of 

15  their  lives  ? 

When  I  think  of  the  office  of  one,  set  for  a  teacher  of 
those  beings,  it  rises  in  my  mind  to  a  rank  which  might 
seem,  even  to  those  thus  occupied,  to  be  unduly  magni- 
fied, did  I  state  my  own  feelings  in  relation  to  it.     Many 

20  look  down  for  the  Teacher;  they  think  his  work  one 
which  almost  any  individual  can  perform,  and  to  which 
neither  honor,  nor  high  compensation,  rightfully  belong. 
I  look  up  for  the  teacher,  far  above  gross  and  perishing 
interests,  up  to  the  clear  sky  of  spirit,  intelligence,  and 

2o  character ;  and  of  him,  who  is  charged  with  these  sacred 
concerns,  and  who  is  faithful  to  this  great  vocation,  I  can 
never  think  otherwise  than  with  reverence. 


LESSON     CXLIV. — ^THE      ENGLISH     SKYLARK. — SAMUEL 

STEARNS. 

[Extract  from  a  letter  of  a  young  American  to  his  brother.l 

London,  July  12,  1836. 
My  Dear  Brother, — I  rose  early  to  enjoy  the  hallowed 
hour  of  devotion.     It  was  my  first  Sabbath  in  a  forel 
land;  and  a  delightful  morning  it  was.     The   sky  \s 
clear,  and  the  air  was  fresh  and  balmy.     I  walked  beyond 
the  closely  built  houses  of  the  town,  now  closed  in  silence 
on  their  slumbering  inhabitants,  to  spend  those  halcyon 
moments  among  cottages  and  gardens,  fields  ahd  hedges 
all  bright  with  the  morning  sun,  and  fresh  with  ♦he  dew 
of  heaven,  to  be  regaled  with  views  as  bcauurt*  as  they 


PART   II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  281 

were  new,  with  the  fragrance  of  flowers  I  had  never 
before  seen,  and  the  music  of  birds  whose  notes  had  never 
before  struck  iny  ear  and  thrijlcd  my  heart. 

When  I  had  reached  the  top  of  a  broad,  swelling,  ver- 
5  dant  hill,  about  one  and  a  half  mile  from  the  town,  I  took 
my  position  upon  the  top  of  a  hedge  bank.  The  town  and 
the  harbor  were  before  me ;  and  all  around  were  the  neat 
white-washed,  straw-thatched  cottages,  and  blooming 
gardens,  and  velvet-like  fields,  enclosed  with  green  and 

10  flowering  hedges,   and   shaded   with   deep   verdant   trees, 

and  enlivened  with  gay  birds,  which  alone,  of  all  animated 

beings  seemed,  with  inanimate  nature,  to  have  caught  the 

.spirit  of  the  morning,  and  to  be  sympathizing  and  vying 

with  each  other  in  the  worship  of  their  Maker. 

15  I  had  not  stood  there  long  before  I  enjoyed  the  principal 
object  of  my  search.  It  was  the  morning  lark,  rising  and 
singing  towards  heaven, — ^just  as  Jeremy  Taylor  has  so 
beautifully  described  it  to  our  imaginations.  I  could  not 
have  had  a  better  exhibition  of  it.     It  satisfied,  and  more 

20  than  satisfied,  my  previou^;,  and  most  pleasing  conceptions 
of  it.  I  saw  one  rise,  and  watched  its  ascent,  and  listened 
to  its  song,  till  it  was  entirely  above  and  beyond  my  sight. 
I  could  only  hear  its  note,  more  soft,  more  sweet  as  it  was 
nearer  the  home  of  the  blest,  and  the  object  of  its  praise, 

25  the  throne  of  its  God. 

I  could  think  of  nothing  but  of  some  returning  angel, 
or  of  some  sainted  spirit  released  from  its  service  below 

•  and  springing  from  the  earth,  gaily  ascending  higher  and 
higher,  singing  more  and  more  joyously,  and  resting  not 

30  from  its  song  or  its  flight,  till  it  folds  its  wing  and  rests  its 
foot  by  the  throne  of  Him  who  made  it.  I  could  still 
hear  its  note,  and  still  1  gazed  after  it,  and  presently  dis- 
cerned its  form,  and  saw  it  descend  ;  but  its  descent  was, 
if  possible,  more  beautiful  than  its  ascent.     It  returned  to 

35  earth  with  such  a  graceful  and  easy  motion,  it  seemed  as 
if  conscious  that  it  could,  at  any  time,  rise  again. 

I  did  not  intend  to  give  you  any  description  of  this  hour 
or  of  this  scene  ;  and  you  can  have  no  idea  of  it  now.  It 
was  altogether  the  happiest  hour  I  have  enjoyed  since  I 

40  left  my  native  land.  I  returned  to  my  lodgings,  satisfied, 
— filled, — and  feeling  as  if  I  had  had  a  glimpse,  and 
caught  a  note,  of  heaven. 


84* 


AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [pa 


LESSON    CXLV. A    DIALOGUE  :    THE    DREAM    OF   CLARENCf    — 

Shaksjxare. 
[ClareTice  and  Brakcnbury  in  the  Tower,] 

Brakenbury.    Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-da^ 
Clareyice.    Oh  !  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night, 

So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 

That  as  I  am  a  Christian,  faithful  man, 
5  I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night, 

Though  't  were  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days ; 

So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 

Brak.   What  was  your  dream,  my  lord  ?   I  pray  you  teli 
me. 
10       Clar.    Methought  that  I  had  broken  from  the  tower. 

And  was  embarked  to  cross  to  Burgundy ; 

And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloster ; 

Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 

Upon  the  hatches ;  thence  we  looked  towards  England, 
15  And  cited  up  a  thousand  heavy  times, 

During  the  wars  of  York  ani  LanciVJ^ier, 

That  had  befallen  us.     As  we  paced  along 

Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 

Methought  that  Gloster  stumbled  ;  and,  in  falling, 
20  Struck  me,  that  thought  to  stay  him,  overboard 

Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 

O  Lord !  methought  what  pain  it  was  to  drown ! 

What  dreadful  noise  of  water  in  mine  ears !  % 

What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes ! 
25  Methought  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks ; 

A  thousand  men,  that  fishes  gnawed  ujx)n ; 

Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 

Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels. 

All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
30  Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls;  and,  in  those  holes, 

Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crepi 

(As  *twere  in  scorn  of  eyes)  reflecting  gems, 

That  wooed  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 

And  mocked  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by.  - 
35       Brak,    Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death« 

To  gaze  upon  these  secrets  of  the  deep  ? 

Clar.   Methought  I  had;  and  often  did  I  strive 

To  yield  the  ghost ;  but  still  the  envious  flood 

Kept  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  lot  it  forth 


< 


I 


PART   n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  283 

To  seek  the  empty  vast,  and  wandering  air ; 

But  smothered  it  within  my  panting  bulk, 

Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea. 

Brak,   Awaked  you  not  with  this  sore  agony  ? 
5       Clar.    Oh !  no,  my  dream  was  lengthened  after  life. 

Oh  !  then  begfin  the  tempest  to  my  soul ! 

I  passed,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood, 

With  that  grim  ferryman  which  poets  write  of, 

Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 
10  The  first  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul 

Was  my  great  father-in-law,  renowned  Warwick ; 

Who  cried  aloud.  What  scourge  for  perjury 

Can  this  dark  monarchy  afford  false  Clarence? 

And  so  he  vanished :  Then  came  wandering  by 
15  A  chadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair 

Dabbled  in  blood ;  and  he  shrieked  out  aloud, 

Clarence  is  ca?ne— false,  fleet i7ig^  perjured  Clarence — 

T/iat  stabbed  me  in  the  field  by  Tcwksbury  ; 

S^ze  071  hi7n,  furies,  take  him  to  your  torments  I 
20  With  that,  methought,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 

Environed  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 

Such  hideous  cries,  that,  with  the  very  noise, 

I  trembling  waked,  and,  for  a  season  after, 

Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell : 
25  Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream. 

Bj'ak.   No  marvel,  lord,  though  it  afTrighted  you ; 

I  am  afraid,  methinks,  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar,    O,  Brakenbury,  I  have  done  these  tnings, — 

That  now  give  evidence  against  my  soul, 
30  For  Edward's  sake,  and,  see,  how  he  requites  me ! 

O,  God,  if  my  deep  prayers  cannot  appease  thee, 

But  thou  wilt  be  avenged  on  my  misdeeds, 

Yet  execute  thy  wrath  on  me  alone ; 

Oh  !  spare  my  guiltless  wife,  and  my  poor  children  I 
35  I  pray  thee,  gentle  keeper,  stay  by  me ; 

My  soul  is  heavy,  and  I  fain  would  sleep. 

B?ak,   I  will,  my  lord  ;  God  give  your  grace  good  rcsi 

[Clare7ice  reposes  on  a  cliair. 

Sorrow  breaks  seasons ;  and  reposing  hours 

Make  the  night  morning,  and  the  noon-tide  night 


294  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   D 

LESSON  CXLVI. NEW  ENGLAND  FREEDOM  AND  ENTERPRISE.— 

JOSIAH  QUINCY. 

If,  after  a  general  survey  of  the  surface  of  New  Eng- 
land,  we  cast  our  eyes  on  its  cities  and  great  towns,  with 
what  wonder  should  we  behold,  did  not  familiarity  render 
the  phenomenon  almost  unnoticed,  men,  combined  in  great 
5  multitudes,  possessing  freedom  and  the  consciousness  of 
strength,—  the  comparative  physical  power  of  the  ruler  less 
than  that  of  a  cobweb  across  a  lion's  path, — yet  orderly, 
obedient,  and  respectful  to  authority ;  a  people,  but  no 
populace ;  every  class  in  reality  existing,  which  the  gene- 

10  ral  law  of  society  acknowledges,  except  one, — and  this 
exception  characterizing  the  whole  country.  The  soil  of 
New  England  is  trodden  by  no  slave.  In  our  streets,  in 
our  assemblies,  in  the  halls  of  election  and  legislation,  men 
of  every  rank  and  condition  meet,  and  unite  or  divide  on 

15  other  principles,  and  are  actuated  by  other  motives,  than 
those  growing  out  of  such  distinctions. 

The  fears  and  jealousies,  which  in  other  countries  sepa- 
rate classes  of  men,  and  make  them  hostile  to  each  other 
have  here  no  influence,  or  a  very  limited  one.     Each  indi- 

20  vidual,  of  whatever  condition,  has  the  consciousness  of  liv- 
ing under  known  laws,  which  secure  equal  rights,  and 
guarantee  to  each  whatever  portion  of  the  goods  of  life,  be 
it  great  or  small,  chance,  or  talent,  or  industry,  may  have  be- 
stowed.   All  perceive,  that  the  honors  and  rewards  of  society 

25  are  open  equally  to  the  fair  competition  of  all ;  that  the  dis- 
tinctions of  wealth,  or  of  power,  are  not  fixed  in  families  ; 
that  whatever  ofthis  nature  exists  to-day,  may  be  changed  to- 
morrow, or,  in  a  coming  generation,  be  absolutely  reversed. 
Common  principles,  interests,  hopes,  and  aflfections,  are  the 

30  result  of  universal  education.  Such  are  the  consequences 
of  the  equality  of  rights,  and  of  the  provisions  for  the  gen- 
eral diffusion  of  knowledge  and  the  distribution  of  intestate 
estates,  established  by  the  laws  framed  by  the  earliest  emi- 
grants to  New  England. 

35  If,  from  our  cities,  we  turn  to  survey  the  wide  expanse 
of  the  interior,  how  do  the  cfl>3Cts  of  the  institutions  and 
example  of  our  early  ancestors  appear,  in  all  the  local  com- 
fort and  accommodation  which  mark  the  general  condition 
of  the  whole  country  ; — unobtrusive,  indeed,  but  substan- 

40  tial ;  in  nothing  snlendid,  but  in  every  thing  sufficient  and 
satisfactory.  Indications  of  active  talent  and  practical 
energy,  exist  everywhere.    With  a  soil  comparatively  little 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  2S6 

luxuriant,  and,  in  great  proportion,  either  rock,  or  hill,  or 
sand,  the  sldll  and  industry  of  man  are  seen  triumpliing 
over  the  obstacles  of  nature;  making  the  rock  the  guardian 
of  the  field ;  moulding  the  granite,  as  though  it  were  clay  ; 
6  leading  cultivation  to  the  hill-top,  and  spreading  over  the 
arid  plain,  hitherto  unknown  and  unanticipated  harvests. 
The  lofty  mansion  of  the  prosperous,  adjoins  the  lowly 
dwelling  of  the  husbandman  ;  their  respective  inmates  are 
in  the  daily  interchange  of  civility,  sympathy,  and  respect. 

10  Enterprise  and  skill,  v/hich  once  held  chief  affinity  with 
the  ocean  or  the  sea-board,  now  begin  to  delight  the  inte- 
rior, haunting  our  rivers,  where  the  music  of  the  waterfall, 
with  powers  more  attractive  than  those  of  the  fabled  harp 
of  Orpheus,  collects  around  it  intellectual  man  and  mate- 

15  rial  nature.  Towns  and  cities,  civilized  and  happy  com- 
munities, rise,  like  exhalations,  on  rocks  and  in  forests,  till 
the  deep  and  far-resounding  voice  of  the  neighboring  tor- 
rent is  itself  lost  and  unheard,  amid  the  predominating 
noise  of  successful  and  rejoicing  labor. 


LESSON    CXLVII. FREEDOM    AND   PROGRESS. CHARLES   G. 

ATHERTON. 

Our  forefathers  came  to  this  land,  seeking  refuge  from 
oppression.  Despised  and  insulted  by  the  haughty  arbi- 
ters of  the  old  world,  that  meek  and  suflering,  but  hardy 
and  faithful  band  brought  to  inhospitable  and  savage 
shores,  their  household  gods,  their  principles,  their  hopes. 
They  were  wafted  hither  by  no  prosperous  gales  of  royal 
favor : — no  lofty  patronage  protected  their  humble  troop. 

The  same  spirit  which  led  them  here, — which  supported 
them  under  trials  and  privations  almost  insupportable, — 
which  nerved  their  souls  against  the  attacks  of  hunger, 
want  and  savage  enemies, — this  same  spirit  flowed  down 
to  their  descendants,  and  became  a  part  of  their  being.  It 
was  the  same  spirit  which  in  them  prompted  resistance  to 
unwarrantable  assumptions  on  the  part  of  the  parent  coun- 
try, and  the  renunciation  of  an  allegiance  that  no  longer 
promised  protection.  It  was  the  same  spirit,  that,  through- 
out their  struggle,  nerved  their  arms  and  braced  their 
souls,  and  led  them  to  resolve,  to  use  the  words  of  one  of 
their  most  able  writers,  "  that  wheresoever,  whensoever, 
and  howsoever,  they  might  be  called  to  make  their  exit, 
they  would  die  free  men  ! " 


2S6  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  C 

Long  enough,  have  the  despots  of  Europe  kept  theii 
subjects  in  ignorance,  in  order  to  preserve  their  own  sway. 
Long  enough,  have  tliey  lorded  it  over  the  consciences  and 
birthrights  of  men.  The  divine  right  of  kings,  which  the} 
5  have  altered  into  the  milder  term  legitimacy,  will  not  do 
**  The  right  divine  of  kings  lo  govern  wrong,"  is  not  a 
maxim  for  this  bold,  busy,  and  inquiring  age.  There  is  a 
spirit  abroad,  too  dangerous  to  be  trifled  with.  Its  out- 
breakings  have  already  been  seen,  in  various  parts  of  the 

10  earth.  If  the  masters  of  the  old  world  yield  to  its  progress, 
it  may  reform  abuses  gradually,  as  the  water-drop  wears 
the  marble,  and  they  may  hide  in  obscurity  their  imbecility 
and  shame. 

But  let  them  form  themselves  into  alliances,  and,  by 

15  combinations,  endeavor  to  preserve  their  sway,  and  "  the 
over-strung  nations  will  arm  in  madness."  Let  them  en- 
deavor to  breast  and  stop  the  tide  of  improvement  which 
is  rushing  onward,  and  it  will  sweep  them  away,  in  its 
mighty  torrent.    The  murmurings  of  the  storm  are  already 

20  heard  in  the  forest,  the  sighings  of  the  gusts  of  wind,  and 
^    the  groans  of  the  laboring  trees.     If  they  prostrate  tliem- 
selves  before  the  coming  tempest,  it  may  pass  them  un- 
touched, unhurt ;  but  woe  to  those  who  endeavor  to  brave 
it;  for  the  angel  of  death  will  ride  on  its  rushing  wings. 

25  Reverses  may  ensue  in  the  cause  of  freedom;  hope 
delayed  may  sicken  the  souls  of  patriots ;  the  exertions  of 
heroes  and  martyrs  may  be,  for  a  while,  in  vain ;  brave 
hearts  may  spill  their  best  blood,  on  the  points  of  merce- 
nary bayonets,  but  the  cause  of  human  nature,  and  of  God, 

iO  must  triumph  !  I  say  the  cause  of  God  ;  for  the  Almighty 
has  not  placed  the  longing  after  freedom,  any  more  than 
the  longing  after  immortality  in  our  bosoms,  that  it  should 
only  forever  be  a  source  of  disappointment  and  despair! 
Our  history  must  inspire  all.     And  it  is  curious  to  reflect 

35  that  our  forefathers,  despised  and  insulted  by  the  poten- 
tates of  the  old  world,  brought  that  here  with  them,  which 
shall  react,  nay,  is  reacting  on  their  persecutors,  with  tre 
mendous  energy.     They  came  here  '*  to  plant  the  tree  of 
life,  to  plant  fair  freedom's  tree,"  which  has  grown  tin  so 

40  large  and  beautiful,  and  will  overshadow  all  the  earth, — 
the  tree  which  shall  prove,  to  the  free  ot  all  nitions,  a 
shelter  and  protection,  but,  lo  tyrants  and  oppressors,  will 
be  more  doadly  than  the  Upas,  which  blasts  and  wi'h»>,r« 
all  who  approach  it. 


: 


PART    II.]  READER    aSD   SPEAKER  987 

The  only  condition  on  which  liberty  is  granted  to  man, 
is  that  of  perpetual  vigilance.  This  subtle  spirit  of  oppres- 
sion must  be  met,  in  its  first  approaches,  it  must  be  guard- 
ed against,  with  ever  anxious  care.  Man  cannot  procure 
5  anything  of  importance,  unless  by  striving  for  it ;  nor  can 
he  retain  anything  worth  having,  unless  by  guarding  ii. 
The  husbandman,  before  he  can  expect  the  earth  to  yield 
its  increase,  must  prepare  it,  by  his  toil ;  and  after  his 
stores  are  gathered,  his  care  is  still  necessary  to  preserve 

10  them. 

The  accumulator  of  property,  when  he  has  amassed 
wealth,  if  he  would  not  lose  all  the  fruits  of  his  labor  and 
anxiety,  must  still  be  ever  on  the  alert,  lest  it  vanish,  and 
all  his  fond  hopes  be  prostrated.     No  other  blessing  can 

15  we  expect  to  enjoy  long,  without  activity  and  care  on  om 
part ;  and  why  should  we  expect  that  liberty,  the  greatest 
of  blessings,  can  be  retained  without  either  ?  Why  shoula 
we  imagine,  that,  because  we  now  have  liberty,  we  must 
always  possess  it,  however  supine  we  may  be  ?     If  free- 

20  dom  is  worth  fighting  for,  it  is  worth  preserving.  Let  us 
never  listen  to  the  voice  which  would  calm  all  our  appre- 
hensions, and  lull  us  into  slumbers  of  security ;  into  a 
quiet  which  might  be  repose  indeed,  but  would  soon  be 
the  leaden  sleep  of  despotism. 


LESSON    CXLVIII. SCENE    FROM    MARINO    FALIERO. BytOn. 

[DogCy  Presidc7ity  and  Sc?iators.] 
Doge.  The  seigniory  of  Venice  !     You  bet|[aycd  me ' 

You, — you  who  sit  there, — traitors  as  ye  are  ! 

From  my  equality  with  you  in  birth, 

And  my  superiority  in  action, 
6  You  drew  me  from  my  honorable  toils 

In  distant  lands, — on  flood, — in  field, — in  cities; 

You  singled  me  out,  like  a  victim,  to 

Stand  crowned,  but  bound  and  helpless,  at  the  altar, 

Where  you  alone  could  minister.     I  knew  not, — 
10  Sought  not,  wished  not,  dreamed  not,  the  election, 

Which  reached  me  first  at  Rome,  and  I  obeyed , 

But  found,  on  my  arrival,  that,  besides 

The  jealous  vigilance  which  always  led  you 

To  mock  and  m'^r  your  sovereign's  best  intents, 
15  You  had,  even  in  the  interregnum  of 

My  journey  to  the  capitol,  curtailed 


2S8  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PABT  H 

And  mutilated  the  few  privileges 
Yet  left  the  duke.     All  this  I  bore,  and  would 
Have  borne,  had  not  my  very  hearth  been  stained 
By  the  pollution  of  your  ribaldry, 
6  And  he,  the  ribald,  whom  I  see  amongst  you, — 
Fit  judge  in  such  tribunal ! 

Preside7it,  And  can  it  be,  that  the  great  doge  of  Venice 
With  three  parts  of  a  century  of  years 
And  honors  on  his  head,  could  thus  allow 

10  His  fury,  (like  an  angry  boy's,)  to  master 
All  feeling,  wisdom,  faith,  and  fear,  on  such 
A  provocation  as  a  young  man's  petulance  ? 

Doge,  A  spark  creates  the  flame ;  'tis  the  last  drop 
Which  makes  the  cup  run  o'er, — and  mine  was  full 

15  Already.     You  oppressed  the  prince  and  people : — 
I  would  have  freed  both, — and  have  failed  in  both 
Pause  not:  I  would  have  shown  no  mercy,  and  I  s^ek  none 
My  life  was  staked  upon  a  mighty  hazard, — 
And,  being  lost,  take  what  I  would  have  taken. 

20  I  would  have  stood  alone  amidst  your  tombs  : 

Now  you  may  flock  roifnd  mine,  and  trample  on  it, 
As  you  have  done  upon  my  heart  while  living. 

President.  You  do  confess  then  and  admit  the  justice 
Of  our  tribunal  ? 

25       Doge,  I  confess  to  have  failed. 

Fortune  is  female  : — from  my  youth  her  favors 
Were  not  withheld.     The  fault  was  mine  to  hope 
Her  former  smiles  again,  at  this  late  hour. 

Pres.^  You  do  not,  then,  in  aught  arraign  our  equity? 

30       Doge.  Noble  Venetians,  stir  me  not  with  questions. 
I  am  resigned  to  the  worst,  but  in  me  still 
Have  something  of  the  blood  of  brighter  days, 
And  am  not  over-patient.     Pray  you,  spare*  me 
Further  interrogation,  which  boots  nothing, 

35  Except  to  turn  a  trial  to  debate. 

I  shall  but  answer  that  which  will  oflend  you. 
And  please  your  enemies, — -a  host  already. 
*Tis  true,  these  sullen  walls  should  yield  no  echo ; 
Bat  walls  have  ears, — nay  more,  they  have  tongues,— 
and  if 

40  There  were  no  other  way  for  truth  to  overleap  them, — 
You,  who  condemn  me, — you  who  fear  and  slay  me^— • 
Yet  could  not  bear  in  silence  to  your  graves 


I 


PART   II.]  READER    A^     '  SPEAJCER.  299 

What  you  would  hear  from  me  of  good  or  evil. 

The  secret  were  too  mighty  for  your  souls ! 

Then  let  it  sleep  in  mine, — unless  you  court 
5  A  danger  which  would  double  that  you  escape. 

Such  my  defence  would  be,  had  1  full  scope 

To  make  it  famous  : — for  true  words  are  things  ; 

And  dying  men's  are  things  which  long  out-live, 

And  oftentimes  avenge  them.     Bury  mine, 
10  If  ye  would  fain  survive  me.     Take  this  counsel ; 

And,  though  too  oft  ye  made  me  live  in  wrath, 

Let  me  die  calmly.     You  may  grant  me  this ! — 

I  deny  nothing, — defend  nothing, — nothing 

I  ask  of  you  but  silence  for  myself, 
15  And  sentence  from  the  court ! 

President.  Marino  Faliero,"^  doge  of  Venice, 

Count  of  Val  di  Marino,  senator. 

And  sometime  general  of  the  fleet  and  army. 

Noble  Venetian,  many  times  and  oft 
20  Intrusted  by  the  state  with  high  employments, 

Even  to  the  highest, — listen  to  the  sentence ! 

Convict  by  many  witnesses  and  proofs, 

And  by  thine  own  confession,  of  the  guilt 

Of  treachery,  and  treason,  yet  unheard  of 
25  Until  this  trial, — the  decree  is  death ! 

The  place  wherein  as.  doge  thou  shouldst  be  painted, 

With  thine  illustrious  predecessors,  is 

To  be  left  vacant,  with  a  death-black  veil 

Flung  over  these  dim  words  engraved  beneath, — 
30  "  This  place  is  of  Marino  Faliero, 
•    Decapitated  for  his  crimes." 
Doge.  Whrit  crimes  ? 

Were  it  not  better  to  record  the  facts. 

So  that  the  contemplator  might  approve, 
35  Or  at  least  learn  whence  the  crimes  arose  ? 

When  the  beholder  knows  a  doge  conspired. 

Let  him  be  told  the  cause, — it  is  your  history. 

Pres.  Time  must  reply  to  that.     Our  sons  will  judge 

Their  fathers*  judgment,  which  I  now  pronounce. 
10  As  doge,  clad  in  the  ducal  robes  and  cap, 

Thou  shalt  be  led  hence  to  the  Giant's  Staircase, 

Where  thou  and  all  our  princes  are  invested ; 

And  there,  the  ducal  crown  being  first  resumed, 

♦  Pronounced  Mareeno  Faletdyro. 

25 


290  A^IERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAKT  U 

Upon  the  spot  where  it  was  first  assumed, 

Thy  head  shall  be  struck  off;  and  Heaven  have  mercy 

U|)on  thy  soul ! 

Doge.  Is  this  the  sentence  ? 
5       President,  Ii  is. 

Doge,  I  can  endure  it.     And  the  time  ? 

Pres,  Must  be  immediate.    Make  thy  peace  with  God^— 
Within  an  hour  thou  must  be  in  His  presence! 

Doge,  I  am  there  already ;  and  my  blood  will  rise 
10  Before  the  souls  of  those  who  shed  it ! 


LESSON   CXLIX. — THE  RICH  MAN's  SON,  AND  THE  POOR  MAJ«'f 
SON. ^J.  R.  LOWELL. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands, 
And  piles  of  brick,  and  stone,  and  gold ; 
And  he  inherits  soft,  white  hands. 
And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold ; 
Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old : 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
One  would  not  care  to  hold  in  fee : 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  cjires ;  * 

The  bank  may  break,  the  factory  bum ; 
Some  breath  may  burst  his  bubble  shares 
And  soft,  white  hands  would  hardly  ear> 
A  living  that  would  suit  his  turn : 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
One  would  not  care  to  hold  in  fee. 


5  What  does  the  poor  man's  son  inherit' 

Stout  muscles  nnd  a  sinewy  heart ; 
A  hardy  frame,  a  hardier  spirit ; 
King  of  two  hands  ;  he  does  his  part, 
In  every  useful  toil  and  art : 
20  A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  does  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ?- 
Wishes  o'erjoyed  with  humble  things; 
A  rank  adjudged  by  toil-worn  merit; 
25  Content  that  from  employment  springs ; 

A  heart  that  in  his  labor  sings: 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee : 


I 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  291 

What  does  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ?— 
A  patience  learned  by  being  poor, 
Courage,  if  sorrow  come,  to  bear  it, 
A  fellow  feeling  that  is  sure 
5  .To  make  the  outcast  bless  his  door : 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me,' 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

Oh !  rich  man's  son,  there  is  a  toil 
That  with  all  others  level  stands ; 
10  Large  charity  doth  never  soil. 

But  only  whitens,  soft,  Avhite  hands : 
This  is  the  best  crop  from  the  lands : 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
Worth  being  rich  to  hold  in  fee. 

15  Oh  !  poor  man's  son,  scorn  not  thy  state  ;^- 

There  is  worse  weariness  than  thine, 

In  merely  being  rich  and  great; 

Work  only  makes  the  soul  to  shine, 

And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign: 
■20  A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

Both  heirs  to  some  six  feet  of  sod, 
Are  equal  in  the  earth  at  last ; 

Both  children  of  the  same  dear  Goo; 
95  Prove  title  to  your  heirship  vast, 

By  record  of  a  well-filled  past : 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
Well  worth  a  life  to  hold  in  fee. 


LESSON  CL. NEW   ENGLAND'S   DEAD. ISAAC  m'lELLAN,  JR. 

"1  shall  enter  oil  no  encomium  upon  Massachusetts;  she  needa 
none.  There  she  is  ;  behold  her,  and  juds^e  for  yourselves. — There 
is  her  history.  The  world  knows  it  by  heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is 
secure.  There  is  BosttKi,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Dunker 
Hill ;  and  there  they  will  remain  forever.  The  b'jnes  of  her  sons, 
falling  in  the  great  struggle  for  indej>endence,  now  lie  mingled  with 
the  soil  of  every  state,  from  New  England  to  Georgia;  and  there 
they  will  remain  forever." —  Wedster^s  Sptech. 

New  England's  dead  I  New  England's  dead  ! 

On  every  hill  they  lie; 
On  every  field  of  strife  made  red 

By  bloody  victory. 


292  AMERICAN   C0MMOIf-»:noOL  [fAKT  XL 

Each  valley,  where  the  battle  poured 

Its  red  and  awful  tide, 
Beheld  the  brave  New  England  sword 

With  slaughter  deeply  dyed. 
6         Their  bones  are  on  the  northern  hill, 

And  on  the  southern  plain, 
By  brook  and  river,  lake  and  rill, 

And  by  the  roaring  main. 

The  land  is  holy  where  they  fought, 
10  And  holy  where  they  fell ; 

For  by  their  blood  that  land  was  bought, 

The  land  they  loved  so  well. 
Then  glory  to  that  valiant  band, 
The  honored  saviors  of  the  land  ! 
15         Oh  !  few  and  weak  their  numbers  were, — 
A  handful  of  brave  men  ; 
But  to  their  God  they  gave  their  prayer, 

And  rushed  to  battle  then. 
The  God  of  battles  heard  their  cry, 
20         And  sent  to  them  the  victory. 

They  left  the  ploughshare  in  the  mould, 
Their  flocks  and  herds  without  a  fold, 
The  sickle  in  the  unshorn  grain, 
The  corn,  half  garnered,«on  the  plain, 
25         And  mustered,  in  their  simple  dress. 
For  wrongs  to  seek  a  stern  redress. 
To  right  those  wrongs,  come  weal,  come  wo6, 
To  perish,  or  overcome  their  foe. 

And  where  are  ye,  O  fearless  men? 
30  And  where  are  ye  to-day  ? 

1  call : — the  hills  reply  again 
That  ye  have  passed  away ; 
That  on  old  Bunker's  lonely  height, 
In  Trenton,  and  in  Monmouth  ground, 
35         The  grass  grows  green,  the  harvest  bright, 
Above  each  soldier's  mound. 

The  bugle*s  wild  and  warlike  blast 

Shall  muster  them  no  more ; 
An  army  now  might  thunder  past, 
40  And  they  not  heed  its  roar 


fJLSLT  II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  293 

The  starry  flag,  *neath  which  they  fought, 

In  many  a  bloody  day, 
From  their  old  graves  shall  rouse  them  not, 

For  they  have  passed  away. 


LESSON  CLI. THE  GRAVES  OF  THE  PATRIOTS. J.  G.  PERCIVAL. 

Here  rest  the  great  and  good, — here  they  repose 
After  their  generous  toil.     A  sacred  band. 
They  take  their  sleep  together,  while  the  year 
Comes  with  its  early  flowers  to  deck  their  gn^vr^ 
5     And  gathers  them  again,  as  winter  frowns. 
Theirs  is  no  vulgar  sepulchre, — green  sods 
Are  all  their  monument ;  and  yet  it  tells 
A  nobler  history,  than  pillared  piles, 
Or  the  eternal  pyramids.     They  need 

10     No  statue  nor  inscription  to  reveal 

Their  greatness.     It  is  round  them  ;  and  tlie  joy 
With  which  their  children  tread  the  hallowed  ground 
That  holds  their  venerated  bones,  the  peace 
That  smiles  on  all  they  fought  for,  and  the  wealth 

15     That  clothes  the  land  they  rescued, — these,  though  mute 
As  feeling  ever  is  when  deepest, — these 
Are  monuments  more  lasting,  than  the  fanes 
Reared  to  the  kings  and  demigods  of  old. 

Touch  not  the  ancient  elms,  that  bend  their  shado 
20     Over  their  lowly  graves  ;  beneath  their  boughs 

There  is  a  solemn  darkness,  even  at  noon, 

Suited  to  such  as  visit  at  the  shrine 

Of  serious  liberty.     No  'kctious  voice 

Called  them  unto  the  field  of  generous  fame, 
25     But  the  pure  consecrated  love  of  home. 

No  deeper  feeling  sways  us,  when  it  wakes 

In  all  its  greatness.     It  has  told  itself 

To  the  astonished  gaze  of  awe-struck  kings, 

At  Marathon,  at  Bannockburn,  and  here, 
30     Where  first  our  patriots  sent  the  invader  back 

Broken  and  cowed.     Let  these  green  elms  be  all 

To  tell  us  where  they  fought,  and  where  they  lie. 

Their  feelings  were  all  nature ;  and  they  need 

No  art  to  make  them  known.     They  live  in  us, 
35     While  we  are  like  them,  simple,  hardy,  bold, 

Worshippm.e  nothing  but' our  own  pure  hearts 


294  AMERICAN   COMMOTC-SCnOOL  [fART  D 

And  the  one  universal  Lord.     They  need 
No  cohimn  pointing  to  the  heaven  they  sought, 
To  tell  us  of  their  home.     The  heart  itself, 
Left  to  its  own  free  purpose,  hastens  there, 

6     And  there  alone  reposes.     Let  these  elms 

Bend  their  protecting  shadow  o'er  their  graves. 
And  build  with  their  green  roof  the  only  fane, 
Where  we  may  gather  on  the  hallowed  day. 
That  rose  to  them  in  blood,  and  set  in  glory. 

10     Here  let  us  meet;  and  while  our  motionless  lips 
Give  not  a  sound,  and  all  around  is  mute 
In  the  deep  sabbath  of  a  heart  too  full 
For  words  or  tears, — here  let  us  strew  the  sod 
With  the  first  flowers  of  spring,  and  make  to  them 

15     An  offering  of  the  plenty,  Nature  gives,  ^ 

And  they  have  rendered  ours, — perpetually.  ^ 


LESSON  CLII. — TRUTH. II.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

O  holy  and  eternal  Truth  !     Thou  art 

An  emanation  of  the  Eternal  Mind  ! 
A  glorious  attribute, — a  noble  part 

Of  uncreated  being !     Who  can  find, 
5     By  diligent  searching, — who  can  find  out  thee, 
The  Incomprehensible, — the  Deity  ! 

The  human  mind  is  a  reflection  caught 

From  thee,  a  trembling  shadow  of  thy  ray. 
Thy  glory  beams  around  us,  but  the  thought 
10         That  heavenward  wings  its  daring  flight  away 
Keturns  to  where  its  flight  was  first  begun. 
Blinded  and  dark  beneath  the  noon-day  sun. 

The  soul  of  man,  though  sighing  after  thee. 
Hath  never  known  thee,  saving  as  it  knows 
15     The  stars  of  heaven,  whose  glorious  light  we  see 
The  sun,  whose  radiance  dazzles  as  it  glows; 
Something,  that  is  beyond  us,  and  above 
The  reach  of  human  power,  though  not  of  human  love 


Vainly  Philosophy  may  strive  to  teach  ■ 

The  secret  of  tny  being.     Its  faint  ray  !^^K 

Misguides  our  steps.     Beyond  the  utmost  reach     ^^^ 


20         The  secret  of  thy  being.     Its  faint  ray 
"'isguides  our  steps.     Beyond  the  utm 
Of  its  untiring  wing,  the  eternal  day 


i 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  296 

or  truth  is  shining  on  the  longing  eye, 

Distant, — unchanged, — changeless, — pure  an.  high  ! 

And  yet  thou  hast  not  left  thyself  without 

A  revelation.     All  we  feel  and  see 
6     Within  us  and  around,  forbids  to  doubt, 

Yet  speaks  so  darkly  and  mysteriously 
Of  what  we  are  and  shall  be  evermore. 
We  doubt,  and  yet  believe,  and  tremble  and  adore ! 


LESSON  CLIII. THE  FIRST  SETTLERS  IN  NEW  HAMPSHIRE. 

N.  A.  HAVEN. 

Two  hundred  years  ago,  the  place  ^  on  which  we  stand 
was  an  uncultivated  forest.  The  rough  and  vigorous  soil 
was  still  covered  with  the  stately  trees,  which  had  been, 
for  ages,  intermingling  their  branches  and  deepening  the 
6  shade.  The  river,  which  now  bears,  on  its  bright  and 
pure  waters,  the  treasures  of  distant  climates,  and  whose 
rapid  current  is  stemmed  and  vexed  by  the  arts  and  enter- 
prise of  man,  then  only  rippled  against  the  rocks,  and 
reflected  back  the  wild  and  grotesque  thickets  which  over- 

10  hung  its  banks.  The  mountain,  which  now  swells  on  our 
left,  and  raises  its. verdant  side,  "  shade  above  shade,"  was 
then  almost  concealed  by  the  lofty  growth  which  covered 
the  intervening  plains.  Behind  us,  a  deep  morass,  extend- 
incf  across  to  the  northern  creek,  almost  enclosed  the  little 

15  *'  Bank,"  which  is  now  the  seat  of  so  much  life  and  indus- 
try. It  was  then  a  wild  and  tangled  thicket,  interspersed 
with  venerable  trees  and  moss-grown  rocks,  and  present- 
ing, here  and  there,  a  sunny  space,  covered  with  the  blos- 
soms and  early  fruit  of  the  little  plant  that  gave  it  its  name. 

20  This  "  Bank,"  so  wild  and  rude,  two  hundred  years  ago, 
was  first  impressed  with  the  step  of  civilized  man. 

The  influence  of  local  association  is  strong  and  univer- 
sal. There  is  no  one  who  has  not  felt  it ;  and  if  it  were 
possible,  it  would  be  useless  to  withdraw  the  mind  from  ita 

25  effects.  We  owe  many  of  our  deepest  emotions,  our  high- 
est and  most  ennobling  feelings,  to  the  suggestions  of  ex- 
ternal nature.  The  place  which  has  been  distmguished 
by  the  residence  of  one  whom  we  love  and  admire,  kindles 
in  OUT  minds  a  thousand  conceptions,  which  we  can  scarcely 

♦  Portsmouth. 


296  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PARl    IL 

analyze  or  describe.  The  moral  beauty  of  character  and 
sentiment,  is  insensibly  blended  with  the  beauty  of  natural 
scenery ;  memory  and  fancy,  alike  excited,  pass  from  one 
object  to  another,  and  form  combinations  of  beauty  and 
6  grandeur,  softened  and  shaded  by  time  and  distance,  but 
having  enough  of  life  and  freshness,  to  awaken  our  feel- 
ings and  hold  undisputed  dominion  of  our  hearts. 

Here,  then,  let  us  indulge  our  emotions.  On  this  spot, 
our  forefathers  trod.     Here,  their  energy  and  persever- 

10  ance,  their  calm  self-possession  and  practical  vigor,  were 
first  called  into  actwn.  Here,  they  met  and  overcame 
difficulties,  which  would  have  overpowered  the  imagina- 
tion, or  subdued  the  fortitude,  of  ordinary  men.  All  that 
we  see  around  us,  are  memorials  of  their  worth.     It  was 

15  their  ente/prise  that  opened  a  path  for  us,  over  the  waters. 
It  was  their  energy  that  subdued  the  forest.  They  founded 
our  institutions.  They  communicated  to  us  our  love  of 
freedom.  They  gave  us  the  impulse  that  made  us  what 
we  are. 

20  It  cannot  then  be  useless  to  live  along  the  generations 
that  have  passed,  and  endeavor  to  identify  ourselves  with 
those  who  have  gone  before  us.  Who  and  tchat  were  they, 
who  thus  fill  our  imaginations,  and,  as  they  rise  before  us, 
bring  to  our  minds  so  many  recollections  of  high  senti- 

25  ment,  and  steady  fortitude,  and  sober  enthusiasm  ?  In 
what  school  were  they  formed  ?  and  what  favorable  cir- 
cumstances impressed  upon  them  that  character  of  endur- 
ing energy,  which  even  their  present  descendants  may 
claim,  as  their  best  inheritance  ?     The  answer  to  these 

30  questions,  is  the  subject,  to  which  your  attention  will  be 
directed. 

The  character  of  individuals  is  always  influenced,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree,  by  that  of  the  nation  in  which  they 
live.    Sometimes,  indeed,  a  great  genius  appears,  who  seems 

35  not  to  belong  either  to  his  age  or  country ;  as  a  sunny  day 
in  winter  will  sometimes  swell  the  buds,  and  call  forth  the 
early  flowers,  as  if  it  belonged  to  a  milder  season,  or  hap- 
pier climate.  But,  in  general,  to  form  an  accurate  opinion 
of  the  character  of  an  individual,  it  becomes  necessary  to 

40  estimate  that  of  his  nation,  at  the  time,  in  which  he  lived. 
.  Our  ancestors  were  Englishmen ;  were  merchant-adven- 
turers ;  were  Puritans.     The  elements  of  their  charactei 
are  therefore  to  be  found  in  the  national  character  of  Eng- 
land, modified  in  the  individuals  by  the  pursuits  of  com^ 


PART   II.]  HEADER    AND    SPEAKER.  297 

merce,  and  the  profession  of  an  austere  but  ennobling  form 
of  religion. 

Such  were  the  men  from  whom  vve  derive  our  origin  ; 
and  such  were  the  circumstances  which  impressed  upon 
5  them  that  peculiar  character,  which  it  is  hoped  the  lapse 
of  two  centuries  has  not  yet  obliterated.  We  may  justly 
be  proud  of  such  a  descent ;  for  no  ancestry  in  the  world, 
is  half  so  illustrious,  as  the  Puritan  founders  of  New  Eng- 
land.    It  is  not  merely  that  they  were  good  men,  and  reli- 

10  gious  men,  exhibiting  in  their  lives  an  example  of  purity, 
and  temperance,  and  active  virtue,  such  as  no  other  com- 
munity in  the  world  could  present ;  but  they  possessed  the 
dazzling  qualities  of  human  greatness.  Do  we  love  to 
dwell  upon  scenes  of  romantic  adventure?     Does  our  im- 

15  agination  kindle  at  the  thought  of  distant  enterprise,  among 
a  strange  people,  exposed  to  constant  and  unusual  peril  ? 
Do  we  turn  with  delight  to  those  bold  and  heroic  achieve- 
ments which  call  forth  the  energy  of  our  nature,  and,  by 
that  deep  excitement  which  belongs  to  the  hopes  and  haz- 

20  ards  of  war,  awaken  us  to  a  new  consciousness  of  exist- 
ence? All  this  is  found  in  the  history  of  our  ancestors. 
They  were  heroes,  as  well  as  pilgrims,  and  nothing  is 
wanting,  but  the  pen  of  genius,  to  make  their  prowess  and 
adventures  the  theme  of  a  world's  admiration. 

25  I  have  already  alluded  to  the  force  of  local  association  ; 
and  I  would  again  advert  to  it  in  considering  the  ties 
which  ought  to  bind  us  to  our  native  land.  Other  coun- 
tries may  possess  a  richer  soil  and  a  gentler  sky ;  but 
where  shall  we  tind  the  rude  magnificence  of  nature  so 

30  blended  with  scenes  of  enchanting  beauty,  as  among  our 
mountains  and  lakes  ?  Believe  me,  it  is  because  our  coun- 
try is  yet  unexplored,  that  her  scenes  of  beauty  and  gran- 
deur, her  bright  waters  and  swelling  hills,  her  rich  pas- 
turage of  living  green,  mingled  with  fresh  flowers,  and 

35  skirted  with  deep  and  shady  forests  ;  her  fields  teeming 
with  life  and  vegetation  ;  her  mountains  rising  into  the 
dark  blue  sky,  and  blending  their  summits  with  the  purple 
clouds ;  her  streams  rushing  from  the  hill-side,  and  hasten- 
ing to  mingle  with  the  sea,  or  lingering  in  the  solitude  of 

40  her  valleys,  and  sparkling  in  the  glorious  sunshine ; — it  is 
because  these  are  unexplored,  that  they  are  unsung.  The 
time  is  not  far  distant,  when  the  poet  will  kindle  into  rap- 
ture, and  the  painter  glow  with  emotion,  in  delineating  our 
romantic  scenery. 


898  AmniQAn  common-school  [part  n. 

But  It  is  our  moral  associations  that  must  bind  us  for 
ever  to  the  land  of  our  fathers.  It  is  a  land  of  equal  rights , 
its  soil  is  not  polluted  by  a  slave.  It  is  a  land  of  religious 
freedom ;  no  hierarchy  can  here  exalt  its  head,  no  ponlifT 
6  can  hurl  his  thunders  over  a  trembling  and  prostrate  mul- 
titude. It  is  a  land  of  industry  and  toil ;  atfording  in  thif 
a  constant  pledge  of  the  manly  virtues.  It  is  a  land  of 
knowledge  and  progressive  improvement.  In  no  part  of 
the  world  is  so  liberal  a  provision  made  by  law  for  publii 

10  instruction.  It  is  a  land  whose  inhabitants  have  already 
fulfilled  the  high  duties  to  which  they  have  been  called 
Other  nations  have  gathered  more  laurels  in  the  field  of 
blood ;  other  nations  have  twined  more  garlands  and  sung 
louder  praise  for  their  poets  and  orators  and  philosophers , 

15  but  where  have  romantic  courage  and  adventurous  skill 
been  more  strikingly  exhibited  ?  Where  has  practical 
wisdom  been  better  displayed?  In  the  hour  of  danger, 
her  sons  have  been  foremost  in  the  battle.  In  every  con- 
test for  the  rights  of  mankind,  her  voice  has  always  been 

SO  raised  on  the  side  of  freedom.  And  now  that  she  stands 
possessed  of  everything  which  civil  and  political  liberty 
can  bestow,  she  is  vigilant  and  jealous  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  her  rights,  and  is  among  the  first  to  resist  encroach- 
ment. 


LESSON  CLiv. — SCROOGE  AND  MARLEY. —  Charles  Dickens, 

Marley  was  dead  :  to  begin  with.  There  is  no  doubt 
whatever  about  that.  The  register  of  his  burial  wa* 
signed  by  the  clergyman,  the  clerk,  the  undertaker,  antP 
the  chief  mourner.  Scrooge  signed  it :  and  Scrooge's 
5  name  was  good  upon  'Change,  for  anything  he  chose  to 
put  his  hand  to.  Old  Marley  was  as  dead  as  a  door-nail 
Mind !  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  know,  of  my  ov 
knowledge,  what  there  is  particularly  dead  about  a  door 
nail.     I  might  have  been  inclined,  myself,  to  regard  a  cof« 

10  fm-nail  as  the  deadest  piece  of  ironmongery  in  the  trade.( 
But  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  is  in  the  simile;  and  my 
unhallowed  hands  shall  not  disturb  it;  or  the  country's 
done  for.     You  will  therefore  permit  me  to  repeat,  em4 
phatically,  that  Marley  was  as  dead  as  a  door-nail.  ' 

15       Scrooge  knew  he  was  dead  ?     Of  course  he  did.     Ho\C^ 
rould  it  be  otherwise  ?    Scrooge  and  Marley  were  partners 
ior  I  don't  know  how  many  years.     Scrooge  was  his  sole 


ofJ 


FART    II.J  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  299 

executor,  his  sole  administrator,  his  sole  assign,  his  sole 
residuary  legatee,  his  sole  friend  and  sole  mourner.  And 
even  Scrooge  was  not  so  dreadfully  cut  up  by  the  sad 
event,  but  that  he  was  an  excellent  man  of  business  on  the 
5  very  day  of  the  funeral,  and  solemnized  it  with  an  un- 
doubted bargain. 

Scrooge  never  painted  out  Old  Marley's  name.  There 
it  stood,  years  afterwards,  above  the  warehouse  door; 
"  Scrooge  and  Marley."     The  firm  was  known  as  Scrooge 

10  and  Marley.  Sometimes  people,  new  to  the  business, 
called  Scrooge  Scrooge,  and  sometimes  Marley ;  but  he 
answered  to  both  names :  it  was  all  the  same  to  him. 

Oh  !  But  he  was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstone, 
Scrooge  !    a   squeezing,    wrenching,    grasping,   scraping, 

15  clutching,  covetous  old  sinner !  Hard  and  sharp  as  flint, 
from  which  no  steel  had  ever  struck  out  generous  fire; 
secret,  and  self-contained,  and  solitary  as  an  oyster.  The 
cold  within  him  froze  his  old  features,  nipped  his  pointed 
nose,  shrivelled   his  cheek,  stiffened  his  gait;  made   his 

20  eyes  red,  his  thin  lips  blue  ;  and  spoke  out  shrew^dly  in  his 
grating  voice.  A  frosty  rime  was  on  his  head,  and  on  his 
eyebrows,  and  his  wiry  chin.  He  carried  his  own  low 
temperature  always  about  with  him  ;  he  iced  his  office  in 
the  dog-days  ;  and  didn't  thaw  it  one  degree  at  Christmas. 

25  External  heat  and  cold  had  little  influence  on  Scrooge. 
No  warmth  could  warm,  nor  wintry  weather  chill  him. 
No  wind  that  blew  was  bitterer  than  he ;  no  falling  snow 
\vas  more  intent  upon  its  purpose ;  no  pelting  rain  less 
open  to  entreaty.     Foul  weather  didn't  know  where  to 

30  have  him.  The  heaviest  rain,  and  snow,  and  hail,  and 
sleet,  could  boast  of  the  advantage  over  him,  in  only 
one  respect.  They  often  "came  down"  handsomely,  and 
Scrooge  never  did. 

Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  say,  with  glad- 

35  some  looks,  "My  dear  Scrooge,  how  are  you  ?  when  will 
you  come  to  see  me?"  No  beggars  implored  him  to  be- 
stow a  trifle  ;  no  children  asked  him  what  it  was  o'clock ; 
no  man  or  woman  ever  once,  in  all  his  life,  inquired  the 
way  to  such  and   such  a  place,  of  Scrooge.     Even  the 

10  blind-men's  dogs  appeared  to  know  him  ;  and  when  they 
saw  him  coming  on,  would  tug  their  owners  into  door- 
ways, and  up  courts ;  and  then  would  wag  their  tails,  as 
though  they  said,  "  No  eye  at  all  is  better  than  an  evil  eye, 
dark  master ! " 


300  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PARF   DU 

But  what  did  Scrooge  care  ?  It  was  the  very  thing  he 
liked.  To  edge  his  way  along  the  crowded  paths  of  life, 
warning  all  human  sympathy  to  keep  its  distance,  was 
what  the  knowing  ones  called  "  nuts  "  to  Scrooge. 


LESSON    CLV. ^THE    PILGRIM    FATHERS    OF    NEW    ENGLAND. — 

RUFUS    CHOATE, 

[Address  before  the  N.  E.  Society,  N.  Y.,  Dec.  22,  1843.] 
We  meet  again,  the  children  of  the  pilgrims,  to  remem- 
ber our  fathers.  Away  from  the  scenes  with  which  the 
American  portion  of  their  history  is  associated,  forever, 
and  in  all  men*s  minds ; — scenes  so  unadorned,  yet  clothed 
6  to  the  moral  eye  with  a  charm  above  the  sphere  of  taste  : — 
the  uncrumbled  rock, — the  hill,  from  whose  side  those  **  deli- 
cate springs"  are  still  gushing ; — the  wide  woods, — the  shel- 
tered harbor, — the  little  islands  that  welcomed  them,  in  their 
frozen  garments,  from  the  sea,  and  witnessed  the  rest  and 

10  worship  of  that  Sabbath  day  before  their  landing ; — away 
from  all  these  scenes, — without  the  limits  of  the  fond  old 
colony  that  keeps  their  graves, — without  the  limits  of  the 
New  England  which  is  their  wider  burial  place,  and  fitter 
monument, — in  the  heart  of  this  chief  city  of  the  nation,  into 

15  which  the  feeble  band  has  grown, — we  meet  again ; — to 
repeat  their  names,  one  by  one, — to  retrace  the  lines  of 
their  character, — to  appreciate  their  virtues, — to  recount 
the  course  of  their  life,  full  of  heroic  deeds,  varied  by 
sharpest  trials,  varied  by  transcendent  consequences ;  to 

20  assert  the  directness  of  our  descent  from  such  an  ancestry 
of  goodness  and  greatness ; — to  erect,  refresh,  and  toucli 
our  spirits,  by  coming  for  an  hour  into  their  more  imme- 
diate presence,  such  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  their 
"human  agony  of  glory." 

25  The  two  centuries  which  interpose  to  hide  them  from 
our  eye,  centuries  so  brilliant  with  progress,  so  crowded 
by  incidents,  so  fertile  in  accumulations,  dissolve,  for  the 
moment,  as  a  curtain  of  cloud,  and  we  are,  once  more,  by 
their  side.     The  grand  and  pathetic  series  of  their  story 

30  unrolls  itself  around  us,  vivid  as  if  with  the  life  of  yesterday. 
All  the  stages,  all  the  agents  of  the  process  by  which  they 
and  the  extraordinary  class  they  belonged  to,  were  slowly 
formed  from  the  general  mind  and  character  of  England ; 
the  influence  of  the  age  of  the  reformation,  with  which  the 

35  whole  Christian  world  was  astir  to  iu»  profoundest  depths, 


I 


FART    II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  301 

and  outermost  limits,  but  which  was  poured  out  unbounded 
and  peculiar  on  them  ;  that  various  persecution,  prolong^ed 
through  two  hundred  years,  and  twelve  reigns,  from  the 
time  of  the  preaching  of  Wicklifie  to  the  accession  of  James 
6  the  First,  from  which  they  gathered  sa^dly  so  many  precious 
fruits  ;  a  brger  measure  of  tenderness  of  conscience,  the 
sense  of  duty,  force  of  will,  trust  in  God,  the  love  of  truth, 
and  the  spirit  of  liberty ;  the  successive  development 
and  growth  of  opinions,  and  traits  and  determinations  and 

10  fortunes,  by  which  they  were  advanced,  from  Protestants 
to  Republicans,  from  Englishmen  to  Pilgrims,  from  Pil- 
grims to  the  founders  of  a  free  Church,  and  the  fathers  of 
a  free  people,  in  a  new  world ;  the  retirement  to  Holland ; 
the  resolution  to  seek  the  sphere  of  their  duties,  and  the 

15  asylum  of  their  rights,  beyond  the  seas  ;  the  embarkation  at 
Delft-Haven, — that  scene  of  interest  unparalleled,  on  which 
a  pencil  of  your  own  has  just  enabled  us  to  look  back  with 
tears,  and  praise,  and  sympathy,  and  the  fond  pride  of  chil- 
dren ;  that  scene  of  few  and  simple  incidents ;  the  setting 

20  out  of  a  handful  of,  not  then,  very  famous  persons,  on  a 
voyage,  but  which,  as  we  gaze  on  it,  begins  to  speak  to  you 
as  with  the  voices  and  melodies  of  an  immortal  hymn 
which  dilates  and  becomes  idealized  into  the  auspicious 
going  forth  of  a  colony,  whose  planting  has  changed  the 

25  history  of  the  world  ; — a  noble  colony  of  devout  Christians 
— educated  firm  men,  valiant  soldiers,  and  honorable  wo- 
men ;  a  colony,  on  the  commencement  of  whose  heroic 
enterprise,  the  selectest  influences  of  religion  seemed  to  be 
descending  visibly;  and  beyond  whose  perilous  path  are 

30  htng  the  rainbow  and  the  western  star  of  empire ; — the 
voyage  of  the  '*  May-flower ;"  the  landing;  the  slow  win- 
ter's night  of  disease  and  famine,  in  which  so  many,  the 
good,  the  beautiful,  the  brave,  sank  down  and  died,  giving 
place,  at  last,  to  the  spring-dawn  of  health  and  plenty;  the 

35  meeting  with  the  old  red  race  on  the  hill  beyond  the 
brook ;  the  treaty  of  peace,  unbroken  for  half  a  century ; 
the  organization  of  a  republican  government  in  the  May- 
flower's cabin  ; — the  planting  of  these  kindred,  coeval  and 
auxiliary  institutions,  without  which  such  a  government, 

10  could  no  more  live  than  the  uprooted  tree  can  put  forth 
leaf  or  flower, — institutions,  to  diff\ise  pure  religion,  good 
learning,  austere  morality,  the  practical  arts  of  administra- 
tion, labor,  patience,  obedience,  "plain  living  and  high 
thinking ;"  the  securities  of  conservatism,  and  the  germs 
26 


d02  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   II 

of  progress  ;  the  laying  deep  and  sure,  far  do%vn  on  the  Rock 
of  Ages»  of  the  foundation-stones  of  that  imperial  structure 
'  whose  dome  now  swells  towards  heaven ;  the  timely 
death,  at  last,  one  after  another,  of  the  first  generation  of 
6  the  old  Pilgrims,  not  unvisiled  by  visions,  as  the  final  hour 
drew  nigh,  of  the  more  apparent  glory  of  the  latter  day ; 
all  these  high,  holy,  and  beautiful  things,  come  thronging, 
fresh  on  all  our  memories,  beneath  the  influence  of  their 
original  hour.     Such  as  we  heard  them  from  our  mothers 

10  lips ;  such  as  we  read  them,  in  the  histories  of  kings,  of 
religions,  and  of  liberty ;  they  gather  themselves  about  us, 
familiar,  certainly, — but  of  an  interest  that  can  nevei  die; 
an  interest,  intrinsical  in  themselves,  yet  heightened  inex- 
pressibly by  their  relations  to  that  eventful   future,  into 

15  which  they  have  expanded,  and  through  whose  light  they 
shine. 

And  yet,  with  all  this  procession  of  events  and  persons 
moving  before  us,  and  solicited  this  way  and  that  by  the 
innumerable  trains  of  speculation  and  of  feeling  which 

20  such  a  sight  inspires,  we  can  think  of  nothing,  of  nobody, 
— here  and  now,  but  the  pilgrims,  themselves.  I  cannot, 
and  do  not  wish  for  a  moment  to  forget  that  it  is  their  fes- 
tival, we  have  come  to.  keep.  It  is  their  tabernacles  we 
have  come  to  build.     It  is  not  the  reformation, — it  is  not 

25  colonization  ;  it  is  not  ourselves,  our  present,  or  our  future, 
— it  is  not  political  economy,  or  political  philosophy,  of 
which,  to-day,  you  would  have  me  say  a  word.  We  have 
a  specific,  single  duty  to  perform.  We  would  speak  of 
certain  valiant,  good,  peculiar  men, — our  fathers  !      We 

30  would  wipe  the  dust  from  a  few,  old,  plain,  noble  uriH ;  we 
would  shun  husky  disquisitions,  irrelevant  novelties  and 
small  display ;  would  recall,  rather  the  forms  and  the  linea- 
ments of  the  honored  dead  ; — forms  and  features  which 
the  grave  has  not  changed ;  over  which  the  grave  has  no 

35  power :  robed  in  the  vestments,  all  radiant  with  the  hues 
of  an  assured  immortality  ! 


LESSON    CLVL THE    SETTLERS    OF    CONNECTICUT. 1^^^ 

The  policy  and  the  institutions  of  the  settlers  of  Con- 
necticut, form  and  display  their  early  national  character. 
Their  attention  to  public  instruction,  civil  and  religious, 
and  their  superintending  and  vigilant  care  of  the  morals 
6  and  habits  of  the  people,  were  doubtless  the  princip^ 


PART    11."^  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  303 

means,  under  Providence,  of  rendering  the  colony,  in 
every  period  of  its  history,  free,  prosperous,  and  happy. 
It  has  been  distinguished,  above  all  other  communities,  for 
the  orderly,  respectful,  and  obliging  deportment  of  the 
6  inhabitants  ;  for  their  intelligence,  industry,  and  economy ; 
for  the  purity  and  solidity  of  their  moral  character ;  for 
their  religious  profession  and  habits  ;  for  the  dignity  of 
their  magistracy,  and  for  unexampled  order  and  decorum 
in  the  administration  of  justice.     The  discretion  and  pro- 

10  bity  which  have  attended  the  elections  of  their  rulers,  and 
the  steadiness  with  which  men  in  power,  and  deserving 
of  the  trust,  have  been  kept  in  power,  even  by  means  of 
annual  elections,  and  in  spite  of  the  temptations  to  change 
which  such  elections  present,  is  a  singular  fact  in  the  his- 

15  tory  of  civil  society,  and  most  honorable  to  the  character 
of  the  State. 

The  people  of  this  State  appear  to  have  preserved  their 
original  manners  and  character  more  entire  than  most 
other  people,  and  in  a  remarkable  degree,  considering  their 

20  enterprising  and  commercial  disposition.  Their  young 
men  have  explored  our  infant  settlements,  and  penetrated 
the  western  forests  and  solitudes  ;  they  have  traversed 
foreign  lands,  and  visited  the  shores  and  islands  of  every 
sea,  either  in  search  of  new  abodes,  or  as  the  heralds  of 

25  science  and  religion,  or  the  messengers  of  business  and 
commerce.  But  notwithstanding  their  migratory  spirit, 
the  sons  of  Connecticut  have  never  lost  their  native  attach- 
ments ; — "their  first,  best  country  ever  is  at  home."  This 
is  partly  owing  to  the  force  of  natural  sentiment ;  but  more 

30  especially,  in  their  case,  is  it  owing  to  the  influence  of 
early  education,  and  to  the  pride,  which  local  institutions 
of  so  simple  and  so  efRcient  a  character,  naturally  engen- 
der. And  who  indeed  can  resist  the  feelings  which  con- 
secrate the  place  where  he  was  born,  the  ground  where  his 

*\5  ancestors  sleep,  the  hills  and  haunts  lightly  trodden  in  the 
vehemence  of  youth,  and,  above  all,  where  stand  the  classic 
halls,  in  which  early  friendships  were  formed,  and  the 
young  mind  was  taught  to  expand  and  admire  ? 

LESSON   CLVII. BENEFITS  OF  COLLEGIATE  EDUCATION. JOHN 

SERGEANT. 

An  opinion  has  already  been  intimated  that  the  benefits 
of  early  education,  continued  through  the  period  which 
nature  indicates  as  the  time  for  training  and  discipline,  are 


304  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

not  entirely  lost,  even  though  the  accjuirements  in  college 
should  afterwards  be  neglected.  Wholesome  nourishment 
and  exercise  for  the  mind,  are  like  wholesome  nourishment 
and  exercise  for  the  body.  They  enter  into  the  constitu- 
6  tion,  and  impart  to  it  general  health  and  strength,  and  ca- 
pacity for  the  exertions  it  may  be  called  upon  to  make,  and 
the  trials  it  may  be  doomed  to  suffer.  This  is  especially 
true  of  childhood  and  youth,  and,  as  to  all  that  concerns 
our  physical  condition,  is  universally  admitted,  in  practice, 

10  as  well  as  in  theory.  The  tender  infant  is  not  suffered  to 
lie  in  torpid  inaction.  Its  little  frame  is  put  in  motion  in 
its  mother's  arms.  As  soon  as  it  can  bear  exposure,  it  is 
sent  forth  to  larger  exercise  in  the  open  air.  The  boy  is 
permitted  and  encouraged  to  rejoice  in  active  and  invig- 

15  orating  sports ;  and  the  youth,  quite  up  to  the  season  of 
manhood,  is  taught  to  blend  the  healthful  exertion  of  his 
sinews  and  muscles,  with  the  cultivation  of  his  intellectual 
and  moral  powers. 

Why  is  this  indication  of  nature  thus  carefully  observed 

20  and  obeyed  ?  Why  do  parents  watch  with  so  much  anx- 
ious care  over  the  forming  constitution  of  the  body,  and 
seek  to  train  it  to  grace  and  vigor?  It  is  becau^se  it  U 
forming,  and  the  fashion  it  then  receives  may  more  or 
less  abide  by  it  ever  after.     Their  anxious  care  is  well  be- 

25  stowed.  Much  of  the  happiness  of  life  depends  upon  it, 
and  every  one  is  aware  that  such  is  the  case.  Hence  it  is, 
that  gymnastics  have  been  introduced  into  places  of  in- 
struction, where  feats  are  performed  which  no  man  of  full 
age  expects  ever  to  repeat,  unless  it  should  be  his  lot  to  be 

30  a  tumbler  or  a  rope-dancer. 

Is  there  not  a  precise  analogy,  in  this  respect,  between 
the  two  parts  of  our  nature  ?  Have  not  the  moral  and  in- 
tellectual faculties  a  growth,  a  period  of  expansion,  a  sea- 
son for  nourishment  and  direction,  when  the  constitution 

35  of  the  mind  and  heart  is  taking  a  form  like  that  of  the 
body,  and  when  the  intellectual  and  moral  capacities  are 
to  be  assisted  and  trained  into  a  healthy  condition  ?  Are 
there  no  gymnastics  of  the  mind  ?  It  would  be  deemed  a 
palpable  absurdity,  if  any  one  were  to  argue,  that  a  child 

40  was  likely  to  be  employed  in  sedentary  occupations,  and 
therefore  it  was  not  material,  that  he  should  have  the  use 
of  his  limbs.  Is  it  not  still  more  absurd  to  use  such  an 
argument  in  relation  to  his  higher  and  better  faculties  ?  It 
is  a  great  calamity  to  be  deprived  of  sight, — to  U»  unabl© 


PART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  305 

to  behold  the  glories  of  the  visible  creation,  and  enjoy  the 
beauties  of  art.  Is  it  a  less  one  to  be  destitute  of  intel- 
lectual vision,  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  "  look  through 
nature  up  to  nature's  God,'*  and  to  discern  glories  greater 
5  far  than  those,  great  as  we  must  confess  them  to  be,  which 
are  manifested  to  the  eye  of  the  body? — by  which,  too,  we 
are  enabled  to  look  into  ourselves,  and  there  to  see  the  fear- 
ful and  wonderful  thing  we  are,  and  how  it  is  that,  from  the 
source  of  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness,  there  is  an  emana- 

10  tion  of  light  imparted  to  us,  which  we  are  commanded  not 
to  allow  "  to  be  darkened." 

Surely,  surely,  these  are  reflections  which  ought  forever 
to  silence  the  sordid  calculation  that  would  bend  man's 
whole  powers  down  to  the  earthj  instead  of  helping  him 

15  to  grow  up  towards  the  heavens.  The  superincunibent 
weight  of  the  world's  business  will  press  heavily  enough 
upon  him.  With  all  the  preparation  he  can  have,  and  all 
the  improvement  he  can  make  of  it,  there  is  danger  that 
he  will  but  seldom  be  able  to  raise  himself  above  the  thick 

20  fog,  that  creeps  along  the  ground,  and  limits  his  view  to 
the  objects  immediately  around  him,  into  the  clear  region, 
where  higher  duties  and  higher  enjoyments  offer  them- 
selves to  his  attention, — where  the  spirit  may  breathe,  the 
mind  hold  communion  with  intelligence,  the  affections  kin- 

25  die,  the  charities  be  nursed,  and  his  whole  nature  exalted, 
under  the  quickening  influence  of  the  consciousness,  that 
he  is  a  man.  It  is  in  this  consciousness,  properly  enlight- 
ened, that  dwells  his  real  dignity,  and  in  it,  too,  the  sense 
of  all  his  duties. 

30  What  parent,  then,  who  has  the  ability,  will  withhold 
from  hrs  child  the  means  of  such  instruction  and  disci- 
pline, in  their  fullest  measure,  as  may  promise  to  give  him 
a  moral  and  intellectual  constitution  fitted  to  seize  upon, 
and  improve  the  occasions  that  may  arise  for  purifying  and 

35  exalting  his  nature,  and  fulfilling  all  his  obligations?  In 
this  consists  his  highest  happiness.  It  will  not  control  the 
course  of  events.  It  will  not  make  adverse  fortune  pros- 
perous, nor  the  contrary.  But,  like  a  wall  in  the  sea,  well 
planted  and  well  supported,  broad  in  its  foundation,  and 

40  carried  to  its  proper  height,  it  will  establish  a  secure  and 
quiet  retreat  from  the  shocks,  both  of  prosperity  and  adver- 
sity, to  which  he  may  betake  himself  in  the  hour  of  dan- 
gerous trial,  and  escape  the  imminent  hazard  of  being 
overwhelmed  by  either. 

26=^  


306  AHSRICAN   COMMON-SCBOOL  [PJUIT  IL 

LESSON  CLVIII.— OUK    CONTROL   OVER    OUR    PHYSICAL  WELL- 
BEING. HORACE    MANN. 

It  is  a  truth  fitted  to  awaken  our  most  fervent  gratitude 
to  the  Autlior  of  our  existence,  that  He  has  placed  the 
great  conditions  of  our  physical  well-being  under  our  own 
control.  Of  the  nature  or  essence  of  the  vital  principle,  wc 
5  are  as  yet  ignorant.  Some  of  tho  internal  ganglia,  also,  are 
mysteries  to  the  profoundest  science.  Of  the  more  subtile 
movements  in  the  interior  of  the  system,  we  can  take  no 
available  cognizance.  These  inward  vital  processes  are 
not  subject  to  our  volition.      The  heart  will  not  continue 

10  to  beat,  nor  the  blood  to  flow,  at  the  bidding  of  the  mighti- 
est of  the  earth. 

The  sculpture-like  outline  of  the  body ;  its  gradual  and 
symmetrical  expansion  from  infancy  to  manhood, — every 
day  another,  yet  the  same  ;  the  carving  and  grooving  of  all 

15  the  bones  and  joints ;  the  weaving  of  the  muscles  into  a 
compact  and  elastic  fabric,  and  their  self-lubricating  power, 
by  which,  though  pressed  together  in  the  closest  order  and 
crossing  each  other  in  all  directions,  they  yet  play  their 
respective  parts,  without  perceptible  friction ;  the  winding- 

20  up  of  the  heart,  so  that  it  will  vibrate  the  seconds  of  three- 
score years  and  ten,  without  repair  or  alteration ;  the  chan- 
nelling out  of  the  blood-vessels,  more  numerous  than  all 
the  rivers  of  a  continent,  and  so  thoroughly  permeating 
every  part,  that  there  is  no  desert  or  waste  spot  left,  wher3 

25  their  fertilizing  currents  do  not  flow;  the  triple  layer  of  the 
skin,  with  its  infinite  reticulations ;  the  culling,  and  exact 
depositing,  of  the  material  of  that  most  divinely-wrought 
organ,  the  brain,  for  whose  exquisite  workn.anship  il 
would  seem  as  though  air,  and  light,  and  heat,  and  elec- 

30  tricity,  had  all  been  sifted  and  winnowed,  and  their  finest 
particles  selected  for  its  composition  ;  the  diffusion  of  the 
nerves  over  every  part  of  the  frame,  along  whose  darksome 
and  attenuated  threads,  the  messengers  of  the  mind  pass  to 
and  fro  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning;  the  fashioning  of 

35  the  vocal  apparatus,  so  simple  in  its  mechanism,  and  yet 
so  varied  in  its  articulation,  and  its  musical  range  and 
compass  ;  the  hollowing  out  of  the  ear,  which  secures  to  us 
all  the  utilities  and  blessings  of  social  intercourse  ;  the 
opening  of  the  eye,  on  whose  narrow  retina,  all  the  breadth 

40  and  magnificence  of  the  universe  can  be  depicted ;  and, 
finally,  the  power  of  converting^  the  coarse,  crude,  dead 


PART  n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  307 

materials  of  our  food,  into  sentient  tissues,  and  miracu- 
lously enduing  them  with  the  properties  of  life  ; — over  all 
these,  as  well  as  over  various  other  processes  of  nrmation 
and  growth,  our  will  has  no  direct  control.  They  will  not 
5  be  fashioned,  or  cease  to  be  fashioned,  at  our  bidding.  It 
was  in  this  sense  that  the  question  was  put,  **  Which  of 
you  by  taking  thought  can  add  one  cubit  unto  his  stature? 
It  is  not  by  '*  taking  thought,"  but  by  using  the  prescribed 
means, — by  learning  and  obeying  the  physical  laws, — that 

10  the  stature  can  be  made  loftier,  the  muscles  more  vigorous, 
the  senses  quicker,  the  life  longer,  and  the  capacity  of 
usefulness  almost  indefinitely  greater. 

It  is  diet,  oxygenation  of  the  blood,  and  personal  purity 
or  cleanliness,  which  have  the  prerogative  of  accomplish- 

15  ing  these  objects ;  and  these  are  in  our  power,  within  our 
legitimate  jurisdiction  ;  and  if  we  perform  our  part  of  the 
work,  faithfully  apd  fully,  in  regard  to  these  things,  Nature 
will  perform  her  part  of  the  work,  faithfully  and  fully,  in 
regard   to  those   subtler  and  nicer  operations   which  ii* 

20  beyond  our  immediate  control. 

LESSON  CLix. — SCENE  FROM  HENRY  IV. — Skakspearc. 
[Hotspur,  Worcester,  Mortimer,  and  Glendower.] 

Mortimer,    These  promises  are  fair,  the  parties  sure 
And  our  induction  full  of  prosperous  hope. 

Hotspur.   Lord  Mortimer, — and  cousin  Glendower,—' 
Will  you  sit  down  ? — 
5  Audi  uncle  Worcester : — A  plague  upon  it : 
I  have  forgot  the  map. 

Glendower.    No,  here  it  is. 
Sit,  cousin  Percy;  sit,  good  cousm  Hotspur: 
For  by  that  name  as  oft  as  Lancaster 
10  Doth  speak  of  you,  his  cheek  looks  pale;  and,  with 
'A  rising  sigh,  he  wisheth  you  in  heaven. 

Hot.    And  you  in  hell,  as  often  as  he  hears 
Owen  Glendower  spoken  of. 

Glend.   I  cannot  blame  him :  at  my  nativity, 
15  The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes. 
Of  burning  cressets  ;  and,  at  my  birth, 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shaked  like  a  coward. 

JJot,   Why,  so  it  would  have  done 


30S  AJ^IERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART   U, 

At  til  '  season,  if  your  mother's  cat  had 

But  iv  1,  though  yourself  had  ne'er  been  born. 

Glend.   i  say  the  earth  did  shake  when  I  was  born. 
Hot,    And  I  say,  the  earth  was  not  of  my  mind, 
5  If  you  suppose  as  fearing  you  it  shook. 

Gleyid.    The  heavens  were  all  on  fire,  the  earth  did 

tremble. 
Hot,    Oh,  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens  on  fire 
And  not  in  fear  of  your  nativity. 
10  Diseased  nature  often  times  breaks  forth 
In  strange  eruptions ;  oft  the  teeming  earth 
Is  with  a  kind  of  colic  pinched  and  vexed 
By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 
W  ithin  her  womb ;  which,  for  enlargement  striving, 
15  Shakes  the  old  beldame  earth,  and  topples  down 
Steeples,  and  moss-grown  towers.     At  your  birth, 
Our  grandam  earth,  having  this  disteinperature, 
In  passion  shook. 

Glend,   Cousin,  of  many  men 
20  I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.     Give  me  leave 
To  tell  you  once  again, — that  at  my  birth. 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes ; 
The  goats  ran  from  the  mountains,  and  the  herds 
Were  strangely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
2o   These  signs  have  marked  me  extraordinary; 
And  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show 
I  am  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 
Where  is  he  living, — clipped  in  with  the  sea 
That  chides  the  banks  of  England,  Scotland,  Wales. — 
30  Which  calls  me  pupil,  or  hath  read  to  me ! 
And  bring  him  out,  that  is  but  woman's  son. 
Can  trace  me  in  the  tedious  ways  of  art. 
And  hold  me  pace  in  deep  experiments. 

Hot.    I  think  there  is  no  man  speaks  better  Welsh  : — 
35  I  will  to  dinner. 

Mort,    Peace,  cousin  Percy ;  you  will  make  him  mad 
Gleiid.    I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep. 
Hot,    Why,  so  can  I ;  or  so  can  any  man ; 
But  will  they  come  when  you  do  call  for  them  ? 
40       Glend.    Why,  I  can  teach  you,  cousin,  to  command 
The  devil. 

Hot.    And  I  can  teach  thee,  coz,  to  shame  the  devil. 
By  telling  truth.     Tell  truth,  and  shame  the  devil. 
If  thou  have  power  to  raise  him,  bring  him  hither, 


PART  II.]  READER  AND  SPEAKER.  30^ 

And  I  '11  be  sworn,  I  have  power  to  shame  him  hence. 
Oh !  while  you  live,  tell  truth,  and  shame  the  deviL 

Mart.    Come,  come. 
No  more  of  this  unprofitable  chat. 
5       Hot.   Methinks  my  portion,  north  from  Burton  here, 
In  quantity  equals  not  one  of  yours ; 
See,  how  this  river  comes  me  cranking  in, 
And  cuts  me,  from  the  best  of  all  my  land, 
A  huge  half-moon,  a  monstrous  cantle^  out. 
10  I  '11  have  the  current  in  this  place  dammed  up ; 
And  here  the  smug  and  silver  Trent  shall  run, 
In  a  new  channel,  fair  and  evenly ; 
It  shall  not  wind  with  such  a  deep  indent, 
To  rob  me  of  so  rich  a  bottom  here. 
15       Glend.  Not  wind  ?  it  shall,  it  must ;  you  see.  it  doth. 

Worcester.    Yea,  but  a  little  charge  will  trench  hnn  here, 
And  on  this  north  side  win  this  cape  of  land ; 
And  then  he  runs  straight  and  even. 

Hot.   I  '11  have  it  so ;  a  little  charge  will  do  it. 
20       Gleiid.    I  will  not  have  it  altered. 

Hot.    Will  not  you  ? 

Glend.   No,  nor  you  shall  not. 

Hot.    Who  shall  say  me  nay  ? 

Glend.    Why,  that  will  I. 
25       Hot.   Let  me  not  understand  you,  then ; 
Speak  it  in  Welsh. 

Gleiid.   I  can  speak  English,  lord,  as  well  as  you ; 
For  I  was  trained  up  in  the  English  court : 
Where,  being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the  harp 
30  Many  an  English  ditty,  lovely  well. 

And  gave. the  tongue  a  helpful  ornament; 
A  virtue  that  was  never  seen  in  you. 

Hot.   Marry,  and  I  'm  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart; 
I  had  rather  be  a  kitten,  and  cry — mew, 
35  Than  one  of  these  same  metre  bill  lad-mongers ; 
I  had  rather  hear  a  brazen  canstict  turned, 
Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  an  axle-tree ; 
And  that  would  set  my  teeth  nothing  on  edge. 
Nothing  so  much  as  mincing  poetry  ; 
40  'T  is  like  the  forced  gait  of  a  shuflling  nag. 

Glend.    Come,  you  shall  have  Trent  turned. 

Hot.   I  do  not  care  ;  I  '11  give  thrice  so  much  lan<i 
To  any  well-deserving  friend ; 

*  Corner.  t  Candlestick. 


510  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCntJOL  [PART  IL 

But,  in  the  way  of  bargain,  mark  ye  me, 

I  'II  cavil  on  the  nintli  part  of  a  hair. 

Glcjid.    The  moon  shines  fair,  you  may  away  by  night : 

I  *ll  haste  the  writer,  and,  wiihal, 
5  Break  with 'your  wives  of  your  departure  hence  : 

I  am  afraid  my  daughter  will  run  mad, 

So  much  she  doateth  on  her  Mortimer.  [Ezit, 

Mort.   Fie,  cousin  Percy  !  how  you  cross  my  father ! 
Hot,    I  cannot  choose ;  sometimes  he  angers  me, 
10  With  telling  me  of  the  moldwarp  and  the  ant, 

Of  the  dreamer  Merlin  and  his  prophecies ; 

And  of  a  dragon  and  a  finless  fish, 

A  clip-winged  grilTm,  and  a  moulten  raven, 

A  couching  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat, 
15  And  such  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff 

As  puts  me  from  my  faith.     I  tell  you  what, — 

He  held  me,  but  last  night,  at  least  nine  hours. 

In  reckoning  up  the  several  devils'  names  ; 

That  were  his  lackeys :  1  cried  humph, — and  well, — go  to, 
20  But  marked  him  not  a  word.     Oh  !  he  's  as  tedious 

As  is  a  tired  horse,  a  railing  wife  ; 

Worse  than  a  smoky  house : — I  had  rather  live 

With  cheese  and  garlic,  in  a  windmill,  far, 

Than  feed  on  cates,  and  have  him  talk  to  me, 
25  In  any  summer-house  in  Christendom. 

Mort.    In  faith,  he  is  a  worthy  gentleman; 

Exceedingly  well  read,  and  profited 

In  strange  concealments ;  valiant  as  a  lion. 

And  wond'rous  afl^ible  ;  and  as  bountiful 
30  As  mines  of  India.     Shall  I  tell  you,  cousin  ? 

He  holds  your  temper  in  a  high  respect. 

And  curbs  himself  even  of  his  natural  scope. 

When  you  do  cross  his  humor;  'faith,  he  does; 

I  warrant  you,  that  jnan  is  not  alive, 
35  Might  so  have  tempted  him  as  you  have  done, 

Without  the  taste  of  danger  and  reproof; 

But  do  not  use  it  oft,  let  me  entreat  you. 

Wdr.    In  faith,  my  lord,  you  are  too  wilful  blame 

You  must  needs  learn,  lord,  to  amend  this  fault ; 
40  Though  sometimes  it  shows  greatness,  coumge,  blood, 

(And  that's  the  dearest  grace  it  renders  you,) 

Yet  oftentimes  it  doth  present  harsh  rage, 
'^      Defect  of  manners,  want  of  govermnent, 

Pride,  haughtiness,  opinion,  and  disdain  j 


PART   II.J  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  311 

The  least  of  which,  haunting  a  nobleman, 
Loseth  men's  hearts ;  and  leaves  behind  a  stain 
Upon  the  beaut}^  of  all  parts  besides, 
Beguiling"  them  of  commendation. 
5       Hot.  Well,  I  am  schooled ;  good  manners  be  your  *:pced  ! 


LESSON    CLX. EXTRACT    FROM    AN    ADDRESS    DELIVERED    AT 

CHAPEL   HILL. — WM.  GASTON. 

Deeply  rooted  principles  of  probity,  confirmed  habits  of 
industry,  and  a  determination  to  rely  on  one's  own  exer- 
tion, constitute  the  great  preparation  for  the  discharge 
of  the  duties  of  man,  and  the  best  security  for  performing 
5  them  with  honor  to  one's  self,  and  benefit  to  others.  But  it 
may  De  asked,  what  is  there  in  such  a  life  of  never-ending 
toil,  effort,  and  privation,  to  recommend  it  to  the  acceptance 
of  the  young  and  the  gay  ?  Those  who  aspire  to  heroic 
renown,  may  indeed  make  up  their  minds  to  embrace  these 

10  "  hard  doctrines  ; "  but  it  may  be  well  questioned,  whether 
happiness  is  not  preferable  to  greatness,  and  enjoyment 
more  desirable  than  distinction.  Let  others,  if  they  will, 
toil  up  "  the  steep  where  Fame's  proud  temple  shines  afar  ;  '* 
we  choose  rather  to  sport  in  luxurious  ease  and  careless 

15  glee,  in  the  valley  below. 

It  is,  indeed,  on  those  who  aspire  to  eminence,  that  these 
injunctions  are  intended  to  be  pressed  with  tho  greatest 
emphasis,  not  only  because  a  failure  in  them  would  be 
more  disastrous  than  in  others,  but  l»ecause  they  are  ex- 

'lO  posed  to  greater  and  more  numerous  dangers  of  error. 
But  it  is  a  sad  mistake  to  suppose,  that  they  are  not  suited 
to  all,  and  are  not  earnestly  urged  upon  "all.  however  hum- 
ble their  pretensions  or  moderate  their  views.  Happiness, 
as  well  as  greatness,  enjoyment,  as  well  as  renown,  have 

25  no  friends  so  sure  as  Integrity,  Diligence  and  Independ- 
ence. 

We  are  not  placed  here  to  waste  our  days  in  wanton 
riot  or  inglorious  ease,  with  appetites  perpetually  gratified 
and,  never  palled,  exempted   from  all  care  and  solicitude, 

30  with  life  ever  fresh,  and  joys  ever  new.  He  who  has  fitted 
us  for  our  condition,  and  assigned  to  us  its  appropriate 
duties,  has  not  left  his  work  unfinished,  and  omitted  to 
provide  a  penalty  for  the  neglect  of  cur  obligations.  Labor 
is  not  more  the  duty,  than  the  blessing  of  man.      W  ithoul 

■^  it,  there  is  neither  mental  nor  physical  vigor,  health,  cheer- 


312  AMKR1CA.N   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  tl. 

fulness  nor  animation  ;  neither  the  eagerness  of  hope,  not 
the  capacity  to  enjoy. 

Every  human  being  must  have  some  object  to  engage 
his  attention,  excite  his  wishes,  and  rouse  him  to  action, 

6  or  he  sinks,  a  prey  to  listlessness.  For  want  of  proper 
occupations,  see  strenuous  idleness  resorting  to  a  thousand 
expedients, — the  race-course,  the  bottle,  or  the  gaming- 
table, the  frivolities  of  fashion,  the  debasements  of  sensu- 
ality, the  petty  contentions  of  envy,  the  grovelling  pursuits 

10  of  avarice,  and  all  the  various  distracting  agitations  of  vice. 
Call  you  these  enjoyments  ?  Is  such  the  happiness  which 
it  is  so  dreadful  to  forego  ? 

"Vast  happiness  enjoy  thy  gray  allies! 

A  youth  of  folly,  an  old  age  of  cares, 
15  Young  yet  enervate,  old  yet  never  wise  ; 

Vice  wastes  their  vigor  and  their  mind  impairs. 

Vain,  idle,  dissolute,  in  thoughtless  ease, 

Reserving  woes  for  age,  their  prime  they  spend; 

All  wretched,  hopeless,  to  the  evil  days, 
20  ^Vith  sorrow  to  the  verge  of  life  they  tend  ; 

Grieved  with  the  present,  of  the  past  a-shamed  ; 

They  live  and  are  despised,  they  die,  nor  more  are  named.* 


LESSON   CLXI. THE    LYRE. — MILTON  WARD. 

There  was  a  lyre,  't  is  said,  that  hung 

High  waving  in  the  summer  air ; 
An  angel  hand  its  chords  had  strung, 

And  left  to  breathe  its  music  there. 
d  Each  wandering  breeze,  that  o'er  it  flew, 

Awoke  a  wilder,  sweeter  strain 
Than  ever  shell  of  mermaid  blew 

In  coral  grottoes  of  the  main. 
When,  spnnging  from  the  rose's  bell, 
10  Where  all  night  he  had  sweetly  slept, 

The  zephyr  left  the  flowery  dell 

Bright  with  the  tears  that  morning  wept, 
He  rose,  and  o'er  the  trembling  IjTe, 

Waved  lightly  his  soft  azure  wing; 
15  What  touch  such  music  could  inspire!  » 

What  harp  such  lays  of  joy  could  sing! 
The  murmurs  of  the  shaded  rills, 

The  birds,  that  sweetly  warbled  by. 
And  the  soft  echo  from  the  hills, 
20  Were  heard  not  where  that  harp  was  nigh 


I 
I 
I 


PART   n.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  313 

When  the  last  light  of  fading  day 

Along  the  bosom  of  the  west. 
In  colors  softly  mingled  lay 

While  night  had  darkened  all  the  rest, 
5  Then,  softer  than  that  fading  light, 

And  sweeter  than  the  lay,  that  rung 
Wild  through  the  silence  of  the  night, 

As  solemn  Philomela  sung, 
That  harp  its  plaintive  murmurs  sighed 
10  Along  the  dewy  breeze  of  even  ; 

So  clear  and  soft  they  swelled  and  died, 

They  seemed  the  echoed  songs  of  heaven. 
Sometimes,  Avhen  all  the  air  was  still, 

And  not  the  poplar's  foliage  trembled, 
15  That  harp  was  nightly  heard  to  thrill 

With  tones,  no  earthly  tones  resembled. 
And  then,  upon  the  moon's  pale  beams, 

Unearthly  forms  were  seen  to  stray. 
Whose  starry  pinions'  trembling  gleams 
20  Would  ofl  around  the  wild  harp  play. 

But  soon  the  bloom  of  summer  fled, — 

In  earth  and  air  it  shone  no  more ; 
Each  flower  and  leaf  fell  pale  and  dead, 

While  skies  their  wintry  sternness  wore. 
25  One  day,  loud  blew  the  northern  blast, 

The  tempest's  fury  raged  along. 
Oh  !  for  some  angel,  as  they  passed, 

To  shield  the  harp  of  heavenly  song ! 
It  shrieked, — how  could  it  bear  the  touch, 
30  ,  The  cold  rude  touch  of  such  a  storm. 

When  e'en  the  zephyr  seemed  too  much 

Sometimes,  though  always  light  and  warm ! 
It  loudly  shrieked, — but  ah  !  in  vain  ; — 

The  savage  wind  more  fiercely  blew : 
35  Once  more, — it  never  shrieked  again, 

For  every  chord  was  torn  in  two. 
It  never  thrilled  with  anguish  more, 

Though  beaten  by  the  wildest  blast;  ^ 

The  pang,  that  thus  its  bosom  tore, 
40  Was  dreadful, — but  it  was  the  last. 

And  though  the  smiles  of  summer  played 

Gently  upon  its  shattered  form, 
And  the  light  zephyrs  o'er  it  strayed, 

That  Lyre  they  could  not  wake  or  warm. 
27 


314                               AMSRICAIC   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  U. 

LESSON  CLXII. POLISH    WAR    SONG. JAMES  G.  FEKCIVAL. 

Freedom  calls  you  !     Quick,  be  ready, — 
Rouse  ye  in  the  name  of  God, — 
Onward,  onward,  strong  and  steady, — 
Dash  to  earth  the  oppressor's  rod. 
6  Freedom  calls  !  ye  brave  ! 

Rise,  and  spurn  the  name  of  slave. 

Grasp  the  sword  ! — its  edge  is  keen, 
Seize  the  gun  I — its  ball  is  true  : 
Sweep  your  land  from  tyrant  clean, — 
10  Haste,  and  scour  it  through  and  through  ! 

Onward,  onward  !     Freedom  cries, 
Rush  to  arms, — the  tyrant  flies. 

By  the  souls  of  patriots  gone. 
Wake, — arise, — your  fetters  break, 
15  Koskiusco  bids  you  on, — 

Sobieski  cries  awake  !  

Rise,  and  front  the  despot  czar, 
Rise,  and  dare  the  unequal  war. 

Freedom  calls  you  !     Quick,  be  ready, — 
20  Think  of  what  your  sires  have  been, — 

Onward,  onward  !  strong  and  steady, — 
Driye  the  tyrant  to  his  den. 
On,  and  let  the  watchwords  be, 
Country,  home,  and  liberty  ! 


LESSON  cLXin. — BELSHAzzAR. — Gco.  Croly. 

Hour  of  an  Empire's  overthrow  ! 

The  princes  from  the  feast  were  gone ; 
The  Idol  flame  was  burning  low  ; — 

'T  was  midnight  upon  Babylon. 

6  That  night  the  feast  was  wild  and  high ; 

That  night  was  Sion's  gold  profaned ; 
The  seal  was  set  to  blasphemy  ; 

The  last  deep  cup  of  wrath  was  drained. 

'Mid  jewelled  roof  and  silken  pall, 
10  Belshazzar  on  his  couch  was  flung ; 

A  burst  of  thunder  filled  the  liall, — 

He  heard, — but  *l  was  no  mortal  tongue  : — 


FiiT   n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  31^ 

"King  of  the  East !  the  trumpet  calls, 
That  calls  thee  to  a  tyrant's  grave ; 

A  curse  is  on  thy  palace  walls, — 
A  curse  is  on  thy  guardian  wave : 

5  "A  surge  is  in  Euphrates*  bed, 

That  never  filled  its  bed  before ; 
A  surge,  that,  ere  the  morn  be  red, 

Shall  load  with  death  its  haughty  shore. 

"  Behold  a  tide  of  Persian  steel ! 
10  A  torrent  of  the  Median  car ; 

Like  flame  their  gory  banners  wheel ; 
Rise,  king,  and  arm  thee  for  the  war ! " 

Belshazzar  gazed  ;  the  voice  was  past, — 
The  lofty  chamber  filled  with  gloom ; 
15  But  echoed  on  the  sudden  blast 

The  rushing  of  a  mighty  plume. 

He  listened ;  all  again  was  still  ; 

He  heard  no  chariot's  iron  clang ; 
He  heard  the  fountain's  gushing  rill, 
20  The  breeze  that  through  the  roses  sang. 

He  slept ;  in  sleep  wild  murmurs  came  ; 

A  visioned  splendor  fired  the  sky ; 
He  heard  Belshazzar's  taunted  name  ; 

He  heard  again  the  Prophet  cry, — 

25  "  Sleep,  Sultan  !  \  is  thy  final  sleep, 

Or  wake,  or  sleep,  the  guilty  dies. 
The  wrongs  of  those  who  watch  and  weep, 
Around  thee  and  thy  nation  rise.** 

He  started  ;  *mid  the  battle's  yell, 
30  He  saw  the  Persian  rushing  on  : 

He  saw  the  flames  around  him  swell ; 
Thou  'rt  ashes  !  King  of  Babylon. 


LESSON  CLXiv. — ELIJAH'S  INTERVIEW. — Thomos  CamphcU, 

On  Horeb's  rock  the  prophet  stood, — 

The  Lord  before  him  passed  ; 
A  hurricane  in  anu^ry  mood 

Swept  by  him  strong  and  fast  • 


3  lb  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  ^PAKl    Ik 

The  forest  fell  before  its  force, 

The  rocks  were  shivered  in  its  course  : 

God  was  not  in  the  blast ; 
*T  was  but  the  whirlwind  of  his  breath, 
5  Announcing  danger,  wreck,  and  death. 

It  ceased.     The  air  grew  mute, — a  cloud 

Came,  muffling  up  the  sun. 
When,  through  the  mountain,  deep  and  loud, 

An  earthquake  thundered  on ; 
10  The  frighted  eagle  sprang  in  air. 

The  wolf  ran  howling  from  his  lair ; 

God  was  not  in  the  storm  : 
*T  was  but  the  rolling  of  his  car, 
The  trampling  of  his  steeds  from  far, 

15  'T  was  still  again, — and  Nature  stood 

And  calmed  her  ruffled  frame  ; 
When  swift  from  heaven  a  fiery  flood 

To  earth  devouring  came  ; 
Down  to  the  depth  the  ocean  fled, — 
20  The  sickening  sun  looked  wan  and  dead ; 

Yet  God  filled  not  the  flame ; 
'T  was  but  the  terror  of  his  eye. 
That  lightened  through  the  troubled  sky. 

At  last,  a  voice  all  still  and  small, 
25  Rose  sweetly  on  the  ear  ; 

Yet  rose  so  shrill  and  clear,  that  all 
In  heaven  and  earth  might  hear ; 

It  spoke  of  peace,  it  spoke  of  love, 

It  spoke  as  angels  speak  above  ; 
30  And  God  himself  wjis  there  ; 

For  Oh  !  it  was  n  father's  voice. 

That  bade  the  trembling  heart  rejoice. 


i 

ii 


LESSON   CLXV. DAME   NATURE'S   CHARMS. — ^WM.  C.  LODGE* 


I  love  to  pause,  in  life's  cold  rugged  way, 
And  muse  on  Nature  in  her  various  forms ; 

Divest  her  of  that  seeming  dark  array. 

And  thus  expose  to  view  her  fairest  charms : 

For  she  is  ever  beautiful  and  bright, 

When  rightly  seen,  in  wild  or  cnhnor  mood, 


I 


FAW   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  317 

In  sunny  day,  or  sable  g^arb  of  nij^ht, 
In  busy  haunts,  or  quiet  solitude. 

Oh  !  my  delight  has  ever  been  to  roam, — 
A  feather,  tossed  on  fortune's  fickle  wave, 
5     Away  from  friends,  from  kindred,  and  from  home, 
The  cold  repulses  of  the  world  to  brave. 
And  when  by  life's  attending  ills  oppressed, 

Dear  Nature,  I  would  ever  turn  to  thee, 
For  in  thy  smiles  the  troubled  find  a  rest, 
10         A  soothing  cordial  in  thy  harmony. 

I  Ve  danced  upon  the  trackless  ocean  wave, 

When  wild  winds  held  unfettered  revelry. 
And  heaven's  loud  peals  the  thundering  chorus  gave 

To  the  rude  tempest's  dirge-like  minstrelsy. 
15     Then  wings  the  soul  its  airy  flight  along. 

Like  lightning  glancing  o'er  the  jewelled  spray, 
And  leaps  to  join  the  revel  and  the  song. 

And  cast  the  thoughts  and  things  of  earth  away. 

And  I  have  wooed  her  in  her  sober  hours, 
20         Amid  her  native  wilds  of  solitude. 

When  twUight  has  revealed  its  mystic  powers, 

And  cast  its  spells  o'er  river,  vaLe,  and  wood; 
*T  is  this  resolves  the  passions  into  thought. 
And  tinges  reason  with  a  purer  flame, 
25     And  shows  proud  man  that  all  his  art  is  nought, 
His  boasted  honors  but  an  empty  name. 

The  sunny  south,  the  clime  of  fruits  and  flowers. 

In  one  eternal  vesture  of  sweet  smiles. 
Where  laughing  streamlets  leap  'midst  shady  bowers, 
30         And  wild  birds'  song  the  sportive  breeze  beguiles  ; 
And  the  bare  mountains  of  the  north,  where  storms, 

And  the  rude  storm-king,  hold  a  fearful  sway, 
Have  all  their  fierce  or  soul-subduing  charms. 

To  cheer  life's  path,  and  drive  its  cares  away. 

35     Man  often  clouds  with  vain  or  fancied  ills, 

His  narrow  span,  when  Nature's  stainless  light 
Dispenses  only  happiness,  and  fills 

The  world  with  things  so  beautiful  and  bright; 
Her  plains,  her  mountains,  and  her  valleys,  teem 
40         With  living  verdure  in  the  fairest  dress; 
And  ocean,  river,  lake,  and  singing  ;Uream, 
Combine  to  harmonize  her  loveliness. 
27*  


318                               AKBRICAN  COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAHT  H 

LESSON   CLXVI. NIGHT   IN    EDEN. — MRS.  E.  H.  EVANS. 

*T  was  moonlight  in  Eden  !     Such  moonlight,  I  weea, 
As  never  again  on  this  earth  shall  be  seen, — 
So  soft  fell  the  radiance, — so  wondrously  blue 
Was  the  sky,  with  its  star-enthroned  angels  in  view ! 

5  How  bright  was  the  bower  where  the  fair-fingered  Eve, 
The  blossoming  garlands  delighted  to  weave  ; 
While  the  rose  caught  its  blush  from  her  cheek's  living  dyo 
And  the  violet  its  hue  from  her  love-lighted  eye. 

There,  lulled  by  the  murmurs  of  musical  streams, 
10  And  charmed  by  the  rainbow-winged  spirit  of  dreams, — 
The  eyes  softly  closed  that  so  soon  were  to  weep, — 
Our  parents  reposed  in  a  bliss-haunted  sleep. 

But  other  forms  gazed  on  the  grandeur  of  night, 
And  beings  celestial  grew  glad  at  the  sight ; 
15  All  warm  from  the  glow  of  their  amber-hued  skies, 
How  strange  seemed  the  shadows  of  earth  to  their  eyes ! 

There,  azure-robed  beauty,  with  rapture-lit  smile, 
Her  golden  wings  folded,  reclined  for  a  while  ; 
And  the  Seraph  of  Melody  breathed  but  a  word, 
20  Then  listened  entranced  at  the  echoes  she  heard : 

From  mountain  and  forest  an  organ-like  tone, 

From  hill-top  and  valley  a  mellower  one ; 

Stream,  fountain,  and  fall,  whispered  low  to  the  sod. 

For  the  word  that  she  spoke  was  the  name  of  our  God ! 

25  With  blushes  like  Eden's  own  rose  in  its  bloom, 
Her  censor  slow  wafting  ambrosial  perfume, — 
With  soft-veiling  tresses  of  sunny-hued  hair. 
The  spirit  of  fragrance  breathed  sweet  on  the  air. 

Then  first  on  the  ears  of  the  angels  of  light, 
30  Rose  the  singing  of  birds  that  enchanted  the  nigh  , — 
For  the  breezes  are  minstrels  in  Heaven^  they  say. 
And  the  leaves  and  the  flowers  have  a  musical  play. 

Each  form  of  creation  with  joy  was  surveyed, 
From  the  gentle  gazelle  to  the  kings  of  the  glade ; 
35  And  lily-crowned  Innocence  gazed  in  the  eyes 
Of  the  thunder-voiced  lion,  with  smiling  surprise. 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  319 

All  night,  as  if  stars  were  deserting  their  posts, 
The  heavens  were  bright  with  the  swift-coming  hosts ! 
While  the  sentinel  mountains,  in  garments  of  green, 
With  glory-decked  foreheads,  like  monarchs  were  seen. 

5  0  Eden,  fair  Eden  !  where  now  is  thy  bloom  ? 

And  where  are  the  pure  ones  that  wept  o'er  thy  doom  ? 
Their  plumes  never  lighten  our  shadowy  skies, 
Their  voices  no  more  on  earth's  breezes  arise. 

But  joy  for  the  faith  that  is  strong  in  its  powers, — 
10  A  fairer  and  better  land  yet  shall  be  ours ; 

When  Sin  shall  be  vanquished,  and  Death  yield  his  prey, 
And  earth  with  her  nations  Jehovah  obey. 

Then,  nobler  than  Adam, — more  charming  than  Eve, — 
The  Son  of  the  Highest  his  palace  shall  leave, — 
15  While  the  saints  who  adored  Him  arise  from  the  tomb, 
At  the  triumph-strain,  telling  "His  Kingdom  is  come!" 


LESSON   CLXVII. THE    PRESENT   AGE. DANIEL   WEBSTER. 

We  live  in  a  most  extraordinary  age.  Events  so 
various  and  so  important,  that  t'^ey  might  crowd  and 
distinguish  centuries,  are,  in  our  times,  compressed  with- 
in the  compass  of  a  single  life.     When  has  it  happened 

6  that  history  has  had  so  much  to  record,  in  the  same  term 
of  years,  as  since  the  17th  of  June,  1775  ?  Our  own 
revolution,  which,  under  other  circumstances,  might  itself 
have  been  expected  to  occasion  a  war  of  half  a  century, 
has  been  achieved  ;  twenty-four  sovereign  and   indcpen- 

10  dent  states  erected  ;  and  a  general  government  established 
over  them,  so  safe,  so  wise,  so  free,  so  practical,  that  we 
migfht  well  wonder  its  establishment  should  have  been 
accomplished  so  soon,  were  it  not  far  the  greater  wonder, 
that  it  should  have  been  established  at  all. 

15  Two  or  three  millions  of  people  have  been  augmented 
to  twelve  ;  and  the  great  forests  of  the  west  prostrated 
beneath  the  arm  of  successful  industry  ;  and  the  dwellers 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio,  and  the  Mississippi,  become  the 
fellow-citizens  and  neighbors  of  those  who  cultivate  the 

20  hilis  of  New  England.  We  have  a  commerce  that  leaves 
no  sea  unexplored  ;  navies,  which  take  no  law  from  supe- 
rior force  ;  revenues,  adequate  to-  all  the  exigencies  of 


IM  AMERICAN   COSrHON-SCnOOL  [PART   U 

government,  almost  without  taxation ;  and  peace  with  all 
nations,  founded  on  equal  rights  and  mutual  respect. 

Europe,  within  the  same  period,  has  been  agitated  by  a 
mighty  revolution,  which,  while  it  has  been  felt  in  the 
5  individual  condition  and  happiness  of  almost  every  man, 
has  shaken  to  the  centre  her  political  fabric,  and  dashed 
agninst  one  another  thrones  which  had  stood  tranquil  for 
aires.  On  this,  our  continent,  our  own  example  has  been 
followed ;    and    colonies   have   sprung  up  to  be   nations. 

10  Unaccustomed  sounds  of  liberty  and  free  government,  have 
reached  us  from  beyond  the  track  of  the  sun  ;  and,  at  this  f 
moment,  the  dominion  of  European  power,  in  this  conti- 
nent, from  the  place  where  we  stand,  to  the  south  pole,  is 
annihilated  forever. 

15  In  the  meantime,  both  in  Europe  and  America,  such 
has  been  the  general  progress  of  knowledge  ;  such  the 
improvements  in  legislation,  in  commerce,  in  the  arts,  in 
letters,  and,  above  all,  in  liberal  ideas,  and  the  general 
spirit  of  the  age,  that  the  whole  world  seems  changed. 


LESSON  CLXVIII.— MELANCnOLY  FATE  OF  THE  INDIANS. 

*      JOSEPH    STORY. 

There  is,  indeed,  in  the  fate  of  these  unfortunate  beings, 
much  to  awaken  our  sympathy,  and  much  to  disturb  the 
sobriety  of  our  judgment ;  much  which  may  be  urged  to 
excuse  their  own  atrocities ;  much  in  their  characters, 
6  which  betrays  us  into  an  involuntary  admiration.  What 
can  be  more  melancholy  than  their  history  ?  By  a  law  of 
their  nature,  they  seem  destined  to  a  slow,  but  sure  extinc- 
tion. Everywhere,  at  the  approach  of  the  white  man,  they 
fade  away.     We  hear  the  rustling  of  their  footsteps,  like 

10  that  of  the  withered  leaves  of  autumn  ;  and  they  are  gone 
forever.  They  pass  mournfully  by  us,  and  they  return  no 
more. 

Two  centuries  ago,  the  smoke  of  their  wigwams,  and 
the  fires  of  their  councils,  rose  in  every  valley,  from  Hud- 

15  son's  Bay  to  the  farthest  Florida,  from  the  ocean  to  the 
Mississippi  and  the  lakes.  The  shouts  of  victory  and  tho 
war-dance,  rung  through  the  mountains  and  the  glades. 
The  thick  arrows  and  deadly  tomahawk,  whistled  through 
the  forests ;  and  the  hunter's  trace,  and  the  dark  encamp- 

20  ment,  startled  the  wild  beasts  in  their  lairs. 

The  warriors  stood  forth  in  their  glory.     The  young 


•ART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  321 

listened  to  the  songs  of  other  days.  The  mothers  played 
with  their  infants,  and  gazed  on  the  scene  with  warm 
hopes  of  the  future.  The  aged  sat  down  ;  but  they  wept 
not.  They  should  soon  be  at  rest  in  fairer  regions,  where 
6  the  Great  Spirit  dweh,  in  a  home  prepared  for  the  brave, 
beyond  the  western  skies.  Braver  men  never  lived ;  truer 
men  never  drew  the  bow.  They  had  courage,  and  forti- 
tude, and  sagacity,  and  perseverance,  beyond  most  of  the 
human  race.     They  shrunk  from  no  dangers ;  and  they 

10  feared  no  hardships. 

If  they  had  the  vices  of  savage  life,  they  had  the  virtues 
also.  They  were  true  to  their  country,  their  friends,  and 
their  homes.  If  they  forgave  not  injury,  neither  did  they 
forget  kindness.     If  their  vengeance  was  terrible,  their 

15  fidelity  and  generosity  were  unconquerable  also.     Their 
love,  like  their  hate,  stopped  not  on  this  side  of  the  grave. 
But  where  are  they  ?     Where  are  the  villages,  and  war- 
riors, and  youth?     The  sachems,  and  the  tribes?     The 
hunters,  and  their  families  ?    They  have  perished.     They 

20  are  consumed.  The  wasting  pestilence  has  not  alone  done 
the  mighty  work.  No, — nor  famine,  nor  war.  There 
has  been  a  mightier  power,  a  moral  canker,  which  hath 
eaten  into  their  heart-cores, — a  plague,  which  the  touch  of 
the  white  man  communicated, — a  poison,  which  betrayed 

25  them  into  a  linc:erin2:  ruin.  The  winds  of  the  Atlantic 
fan  not  a  single  region,  which  they  may  now  call  their 
own. 

Already  the  last  feeble  remnants  of  the  race  are  prepar- 
ing for  their  journey  beyond  the  Mississippi.     I  see  them 

30  leave  their  miserable  homes,  the  aged,  the  helpless,  the 
women,  and  the  warriors,  "  few  and  faint,  yet  fearless 
still."  The  ashes  are  cold  on  their  native  hearths.  The 
smoke  no  longer  curls  round  their  lowly  cabins.  They 
move  on  with  a  slow,  unsteady  step.     The  white  man  is 

35  upon  their  heels,  for  terror  or  despatch  ;  but  they  heed 
him  not.  They  turn  to  take  a  last  look  of  their  deserted 
villages.  They  cast  a  last  glance  upon  the  graves  of  their 
Aithers.  They  shed  no  tears ;  they  utter  no  cries ;  they 
heave  no  groans. 

40  There  is  something  in  their  hearts  which  passes  speech. 
There  is  something  in  their  looks,  not  of  vengeance  or 
submission,  but  of  hard  necessity,  which  stifles  both ; 
which  chokes  all  utterance  ;  which  has  no  aim  or  method. 
It  is  courage,  absorbed  in  despair.     They  linger  but  for  a 


322  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U. 

moment.     Their  look  is  onward.     They  have  passed  the 
fatal  stream.     It  shall  never  be  re-passed  by  tnem, — no 
never.     Yet  there  lies  not  between  us  and  them  an  im 
passable    gulf.     They   know,   and    feel,  that  there  is  for 
6  them  still  one  remove  farther,  not  distant,  nor  unseen.     It 
is  to  tne  general  burial-ground  of  their  race. 


LESSON  CLXIX.— EDMUND    BURKE. — A.   H.   EVERETT. 

A  sagacious  critic  has  advanced  the  opinion,  that  the 
merit  of  Burke  was  almost  wholly  literary  ;  but,  I  confess 
I  see  little  ground  for  this  assertion,  if  literary  excellence 
is  here  understood  in  any  other  sense,  than  as  an  imme- 
6  diate  result  of  the  highest  intellectual  and  moral  endow- 
ments. Such  compositions,  as  the  writings  of  Burke,  sup- 
pose, no  doum,  the  fine  taste,  the  command  of  language, 
and  the  finished  education,  which  are  all  supposed  by 
every  description  of  literary  success.     But,  in  the  present 

10  state  of  society,  these  qualities  are  far  from  being  uncom- 
mon ;  and  are  possessed  by  thousands,  who  make  no  pre- 
tensions to  the  eminence  of  Burke,  in  the  same  degree,  in 
which  they  were  by  him.  Such  a  writer  as  Cumberland, 
for  example,  who  stands  infinitely  below  Burke,  on  the 

15  scale  of  intellect,  may  yet  be  regarded  as  his  equal  or  su- 
perior, in  purely  literary  accomplishments,  taken  in  this 
exclusive  sense. 

The   style   of  Burke  is   undoubtedly  one  of  the  most 
splendid  forms,  in  which  the  English  language  has  ever 

20  been  exhibited.  It  displays  the  happy  and  difficult  union 
of  all  the  richness  and  magnificence  that  good  taste  admits, 
with  a  perfectly  easy  construction.  In  Burke,  we  see  the 
manly  movement  of  a  well-bred  gentleman ;  in  Johnson, 
an  equally  profound  and  vigorous  thinker,  the  measuredj 

25  march  of  a  grenadier.  We  forgive  the  great  moralist  hi»j 
stiff  and  cumbrous  phrases,  in  return  for  the  rich  stores  of  I 
thought  and  poetry  which  they  conceal;  but  we  admire  inj 
Burke,  as  in  a  fine  antique  statue,  the  grace  with  whicl 
the  large  flowing  robe  adapts  itself  to  the  majestic  dignityj 

30  of  the  person. 

But,  with  all  his  literary  excellence,  the  peculiar  merit* 
of  this  groat  man  were,  perhaps,  the  faculty  of  profound  andl 
philosophical  thought,  and  the  moral  courage  which  ledl 
nim  to  disregard  personal  inconvenience,  in  the  expression 

35  of  his  sentiments.     Deep  thought  is  the  informing  souL 


PART    II.J  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  323 

that  everywhere  sustains  and  inspires  the  imposing  gran- 
deur of  his  eloquence.  Even  in  the  Essay  on  the  Sub- 
lime and  Beautiful,  the  only  work  of  pure  literature  which 
he  attempted,  that  is,  the  only  one  which  was  not  an  im- 
5  mediate  expression  of  his  views  on  public  affairs,  there  is 
still  the  same  ricimess  of  thought,  the  same  basis  of  "  di- 
vine philosophy,"  to  support  the  harmonious  superstructure 
of  the  language.  And  the  moral  courage,  which  formed 
so  remarkable  a  feature  in  his  character,  contributed  not 

10  less  essentially  to  his  literary  success. 

It  seems  to  be  a  law  of  nature,  that  the  highest  de- 
gree of  eloquence  demands  the  union  of  the  noblest 
qualities  of  character,  as  well  as  intellect.  To  think,  is 
the  highest  exercise  of  the  mind;  to  say  what  you  think, 

15  the  boldest  effort  of  moral  courage ;  and  both  these  things 
are  required,  for  a  really  powerful  writer.  Eloquence, 
without  thoughts,  is  a  mere  parade  of  words  ;  and  no  man 
can  express,  with  spirit  and  vigor,  any  thoughts  but  his 
own.     This  was  the  secret  of  the  eloquence  of  Rousseau, 

20  which  is  not  without  a  certain  analogy,  in  its  form^,  to  that 
of  Burke.  The  principal  of  the  Jesuits'  college  one  day 
inquired  of  him,  by  what  art  he  had  been  able  to  write  so 
well;  **  I  said  what  I  thought,'^  replied  the  unceremonious 
Genevan ;  conveying,  in  these   few   words,    the    bitterest 

25  satire  on  the  system  of  the  Jesuits,  and  the  best  explana- 
tion of  his  own. 


LESSON  CLXX. NATIONAL  SELF-RESPECT. BEMAN. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  cherish,  in  any  shape,  a  spirit  of 
national  prejudice,  or  to  excite,  in  others,  a  disgusting  na- 
tional vanity.  Bui,  when  I  reflect  upon  the  part  which 
this  country  is  probably  to  act  in  the  renovation  of  the 
5  world,  I  rejoice  that  I  am  a  citizen  of  this  great  republic. 
This  western  continent  has,  at  different  periods,  been  the 
subject  of  every  species  of  transatlantic  abuse.  In  former 
days,  some  of  the  naturalists  of  Europe  told  us,  that  every- 
thing here   was   constructed  upon   a  small   scale.      The 

10  frowns  of  nature  were  represented,  as  investing  the  Avhole 
hemisphere  we  inhabit.  It  has  been  asserted,  that  the 
eternal  storms,  which  are  said  to  beat  upon  the  brows  of 
our  mountains,  and  to  roll  the  tide  of  desolation  at  their 
bases, — tho  hurricanes  which  sweep  our  vales,  and  the 

15  volcanic  fires  which  issue  from  a  thousand  flaming  cra- 
ters,— the  thunderbolts  which  perpetually  descend  from 


324  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAKT   O. 

heaven,  and  the  earthquakes,  whose  trepidations  are  fel« 
to  the  very  centre  of  our  globe,  have  superinduced  a 
degeneracy,  through  all  the  productions  of  nature.  Men 
have  been  frightened  into  intellectual  dwarfs ;  and  the 
6  boasts  of  the  forest  have  not  attained  more  than  half  their 
ordinary  growth ! 

While  some  of  the  lines  and  touches  of  this  picture  have 
been  blotted  out,  by  the  reversing  hand  of  time,  others  have 
been  added,  which  have,  in  some  respects,  carried  the  con- 

10  ceit  still  farther.  In  later  days,  and,  in  some  instances,  even 
down  to  the  present  ))eriod,  it  has  been  published  and  re- 
published from  the  enlightened  presses  of  the  old  world,  that 
so  strong  is  the  tendency  to  deterioration  on  this  continent, 
that  the  descendants  of  European  ancestors  are  far  inferiox 

15  to  the  original  stock,  from  which  they  sprang.  But  inferior 
in  what  ?  In  national  spirit  and  patriotic  achievement?  Let 
the  revolutionary  conflict, — the  opening  scenes  at  Boston, 
and  the  catastrophe  at  Yorktown, — furnish  the  reply.  Let 
Bennington  and  Saratoga  support  their  respective  claims. 

20  Inferior  in  enterprise  ?  Let  the  sail  that  whitens  every 
ocean,  and  the  commercial  spirit  that  braves  every  element, 
and  visits  every  bustling  mart,  refute  the  unfounded  as- 
persion. Inferior  in  deeds  of  zeal  and  valor  for  the  church? 
Let  our  missionaries  in  the  bosom  of  our  own  forest,  in  the 

25  distant  regions  of  the  east,  and  on  the  islands  of  the  great 
Pacific,  answer  the  question.  Inferior  in  science,  and  let- 
ters, and  the  arts  ?  It  is  true  our  nation  is  young ;  but  wo 
may  challenge  the  world  to  furnish  a  national  maturity, 
wliich,  in  these  respects,  will  compare  with  ours. 

30  The  character  and  institutions  of  this  country,  have 
already  produced  a  deep  impression  upon  the  world  we 
inhabit.  What,  but  our  example,  has  stricken  the  chains 
of  despotism  from  the  provinces  of  South  America, — giv- 
ing, by  a  single  impulse,  freedom  to  half  a  hemisphere? 

35  A  Washington  here,  has  created  a  Bolivar  there.  The 
flag  of  independence,  which  has  long  waved  from  the  sum- 
mit of  our  Alleghany,  has  now  been  answered  by  a  corre- 
sponding signal,  from  the  heights  of  the  Andes.  And  the 
same  spirit,  too,  that  came  across  the  Atlantic  wave  with 

40  the  pilgrims,  and  made  the  rock  of  Plymouth  the  corner- 
stone of  freedom,  and  of  this  republic,  is  travelling  b^ck  to 
the  east.  It  has  already  carried  its  influence  into  the  cab* 
inet«  of  princes ;  and  it  is,  at  this  moment,  sung  by  the 
Grecian  bard,  and  emuLited  by  the  Grecian  hero. 


Part  :i.]  reader  and  speaker.  325 

lesson  clxxi. internal  improvement. j.  c.  calhoun. 

On  this  subject  of  national  power,  what  can  be  more 
important  than  a  perfect  unity  in  every  part,  in  feelings 
and  sentiments  ?  And  what  can  tend  more  powerfully  to 
produce  it.  than  overcoming  the  effects  of  distance  ?  No 
5  country,  enjoying  freedom,  ever  occupied  anything  like  as 
great  an  extent  of  country  as  this  republic.  One  hundred 
years  ago,  the  most  profound  philosophers  did  not  believe 
it  to  be  even  possible.  They  did  not  suppose  it  possible, 
that  a  pure  republic  could  exist  on  as  great  a  scale,  even 

10  as  the  island  of  Great  Britain. 

What  then  vvas  considered  as  chimerical,  we  have  now 
the  felicity  to  enjoy  ;  and  what  is  most  remarkable,  such 
is  the  happy  mould  of  our  government,  so  well  are  the 
state  and  general  powers  blended,  that  much  of  our  politi- 

15  cal  happiness  draws  its  origin  from  the  extent  of  our 
republic.  It  has  exempted  us  from  most  of  the  causes 
which  distracted  the  small  republics  of  antiquity.  Let  it 
not,  however,  be  forgotten,  let  it  be  forever  kept  in  mind, 
that  it  exposes  us  to  the  greatest  of  all  calamities, — next 

20  to  the  loss  of  liberty,  and  even  to  that  in  its  consequences, 
— disunion. 

We  are  crreat,  and  rapidly,  I  was  about  to  say  fear- 
fully, growing.  This  is  our  pride  and  our  danger,  our 
weakness  and  our  stren2:th.     Little  does  he  deserve  to  be 

25  intrusted  with  the  liberties  of  this  people,  who  does  not 
raise  his  mind  to  these  truths.  We  are  under  the  most 
imperious  obligations  to  counteract  every  tendency  to  dis- 
union. The  strongest  of  all  cement,  is,  undoubtedly,  the 
wisdom,  justice,   and,  above  all,  the  moderation   of  this 

30  House  ;  yet  the  great  subject  on  which  we  are  now  delib- 
erating, in  this  respect,  deserves  the  most  serious  con- 
sideration. 

Whatever  impedes  the  intercourse  of  the  extremes  with 
this,  the  centre  of  the  republic,  weakens  the  union.     The 

35  more  enlarged  the  sphere  of  commercial  circulation,  the 
more  extended  that  of  social  intercourse ;  the  more 
strongly  we  are  bound  together,  the  more  inseparable  are 
our  destinies.  Those  who  understand  the  human  heari 
best,  know  how  powerfully  distance  tends   to  break   the 

40  sympathies  of  our   nature.     Nothing,  not  even  dissimi- 
larity of  language,  tends  more  to  estrange  man  from  man 
Let  us,  then,  bind   the  republic  together,  with  a  perlect 
28 


326  AMERICAN   COMMON-FCHOOL  [PART   IL 

system  of  roads  and  canals.  Lei  us  conquer  sj^ace.  Il  is 
thus,  the  most  dij>iant  part  of  the  republic  will  l>e  brought 
within  a  few  days'  travel  of  the  centre  ;  il  is  thus,  that  a 
citizen  of  the  west  will  read  the  news  of  Boston,  still 
5  moist  from  the  press. 


LESSON    CLXXII. FOUNDERS    OF    OUR    GOVERNMENT. 

WM.  M.  RICHARDSON. 

The  love  of  liberty  has  always  been  the  rulings  passion 
of  our  nation.  It  was  mixed  at  first  with  the  *' purple 
tide"  of  the  founders*  lives,  and,  circulating  with  that  tide 
through  all  their  veins,  has  descended  down  through 
5  every  generation  of  their  posterity,  marking  every  feature 
of  our  country's  glorious  story.  May  it  continue  thus  to 
circulate  and  descend  to  the  remotest  period  of  time ! 

Oppressed  and  persecuted  in  their  native  country?  the 
high,  indignant  spirit  of  our  fathers,  formed  the  bold  design 

10  of  leaving  a  land,  where  minds,  as  well  as  bodies,  were 
chained,  for  regions  where  Freedom  might  be  found  to 
dwell,  though  her  dwelling  should  prove  to  be  amid  wilds 
and  wolves,  or  savages  less  hospitable  than  wilds  and 
wolves  !     An  ocean  three  thousand  miles  wide,  with  its 

15  winds  and  its  waves,  rolled  in  vain  between  them  and 
liberty.  They  performed  the  grand  enterprise,  and  landcl 
on  this  then  uncultivated  shore  Here,  on  their  fir:>t 
arrival,  they  found 

The  wilderness  '^all  before  them,  where  to  choose 
20  Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide." 

Their  courage  and  industry  soon  surmounted  all  the 
difficulties  incident  to  a  new  settlement.  The  savage- 
retired,  the  forests  were  exchanged  for  fields  waving  with 
richest  harvests,  and  the  dreary  haunts  of  wild  beasts,  foi 

25  the  cheerful  abodes  of  civilized  man.  Increasing  in 
wealth  and  population,  with  a  rapidity  which  excited  iht 
astonishment  of  the  old  world,  our  nation  flourished  about 
a  century  and  a  half,  w^hen  England,  pressed  down  wiih 
the  enormous  weight  of  accumulating  debts,  and  consider- 

tM)  ing  the  inhabitants  of  these  States  as  slaves,  who  ow(  <1 
their  existence  and  preservation  to  her  care  and  protection, 
now  began  to  form  the  unjust,  tyrannical,  and  impolitic 
pian  of  taxing  this  country,  without  its  consent.  Tlui 
light  of  taxation,  however,  not  being  rnlinquished,  but  the 


PART   IL]  reader    AND    SPEAKER.  327 

same  principle  under  u  different  shape  being  pursued,  the 
AWFUL  GENIUS  OF  FREEDOM  arose,  not  with  the  ungovernable 
ferocity  of  the  tiger,  to  tear  and  devour,  but  with  the  cool, 
determined,  persevering  courage  of  the  lion,  who,  disdain- 
5  ing  to  be  a  slave,  resists  the  chain.  As  liberty  was  the 
object  of  contest,  that  being  secured,  the  offer  of  peace 
was  joyfully  accepted ;  and  peace  was  restored  to  free, 
united,  independent  Columbia ! 


L2SS0N  CLXXIII. CONDUCT  OF  THE  OPPOSITION. HENRY  CLAY. 

[Extract  from  a  Speech  on  the  new  Army  Bill.] 

If  gentlemen  would  only  reserve  for  their  own  govern- 
ment, half  the  sensibility  which  is  indulged  for  that  of 
Great  Britain,  they  would  find  much  less  to  condemn. 
Restriction  after  restriction  has  been  tried ;  negotiation 
5  has  been  resorted  to,  until  further  negotiation  would  have 
been  disgraceful.  Whilst  these  peaceful  experiments  are 
undergoing  a  trial,  what  is  the  conduct  of  the  opposition  ? 
They  are  the  champions  of  war ;  the  proud,  the  spirited, 
the  sole  repository  of  the  nation's  honor,  the  men  of  exclu- 

10  sive  vigor  <ind  energy.  The  administration  on  the  con- 
trary, is  weak,  feeble,  and  pusillanimous, — *'  incapable  of 
being  kicked  into  a  war."  The  maxim,  "not  a  cent  for 
tribute,  millions  for  defence,"  is  loudly  proclaimed.  Is 
the    administration   for  negotiation  ?      The    opposition   i% 

15  tired,  sick,  disgusted  with  negotiation.  They  wish  to 
draw  the  sword  and  avenge  the  nation's  wrongs.  When, 
however,  foreign  nations,  perhaps  emboldened  by  the  very 
opposition  here  made,  refuse  to  listen  to  the  amiable 
appeals,  which  have  been  repeated  and  reiterated  by  the 

20  administration,  to  their  justice  and.  to  their  interests , 
when,  in  facl,  war  with  one  of  them  has  become  identified 
with  our  independence  and  our  sovereignty,  and  to  ab- 
stain from  it  was  no  longer  possible ;  behold  the  opposi- 
tion veering  round,  and  becoming  the  friends  of  peace  and 

25  commerce.  They  tell  you  of  the  calamities  of  war,  its 
tragical  events,  the  squandering  away  of  your  resources, 
the  waste  of  the  public  treasure,  and  the  spilling  of  inno- 
cent blood.  "Gorgons,  hydras,  and  chimeras  dire  "  They 
tell   you   that  honor  is  an  illusion !     Now  we  see  them 

30  exhibiting  the  terrific  forms  of  the  roaring  king  of  the 
forest :    now  the    meekness  and  humility  of  the   lamb ! 


329  AMERICAN    COmiON-SCnOOL  [PART  H. 

They  are  for  war  and  no  restrictions,  when  the  adminis- 
tration is  for  peace.  They  are  for  peace  and  restrictions, 
when  tlie  administration  is  for  war.  You  find  them,  sir, 
tacking  with  every  gale,  displaying  the  colors  of  every 
5  party,  and  of  all  nations,  steady  only  in  one  unalterable 
purpose, — to  steer,  if  possible,  into  the  haven  of  power. 


LESSON    CLXXIV. GOD,    THE    CREATOR. FcTielon. 

Cast  your  eyes  upon  the  earth  that  supports  us  ;  raise 
them  then  to  this  immense  canopy  of  the  heavens  that  sur- 
rounds us, — these  fathomless  abysses  of  air  and  water,  and 
these  countless  stars  that  give  us  light.  Who  is  it  that 
6  has  suspended  this  globe  of  earth  ?  who  has  laid  its  founda- 
tions ?  If  it  were  harder,  its  bosom  could  not  be  laid  open 
by  man  for  cultivation ;  if  it  were  less  firm  it  could  not  sup- 
port the  weight  of  his  footsteps.  From  it  proceed  the  most 
precious  things :    this  earth,  so  mean  and  unformed,  is 

10  transformed  into  thousands  of  beautiful  objects,  that  delight 
our  eyes.  In  the  course  of  one  year,  it  becomes  branches, 
buds,  leaves,  flowers,  fruits,  and  seeds ;  thus  renewing  its 
bountiful  favors  to  man.  Nothing  exhausts  it.  After 
yielding,  for  so  many  ages,  its  treasures,  it  experiences  no 

15  decay ;  it  does  not  grow  old ;  it  still  pours  forth  riches  from 
its  bosom. 

Who  has  stretched  over  our  heads  this  vast  and  glorious 
arch  ?  What  sublime  objects  are  there  !  An  all-powerful 
Hand  has  presented  this  grand  spectacle  to  our  vision. 

20  What  does  the  regular  succession  of  day  and  night 
teach  us  ?  The  sun  has  never  omitted,  for  so  many  ages, 
to  shed  his  blessing  upon  us.  The  dawn  never  fails  to 
announce  the  day;  and  "the  sun,"  says  the  Holy  Book. 
"  knows  his  going  down."     Thus  it  enlightens  alternately 

25  both  sides  of  the  world,  and  sheds  its  rays»on  all.  Day  is 
the  time  for  society  and  employment.  Night  folds  the 
world  in  darkness,  finishes  our  labors,  and  softens  our  trou- 
bles. It  suspends,  it  calms  everything.  It  sheds  round  us 
silence  and  sleep  ;  it  rests  our  bodies,  it  revives  <• 

30  Then  day  returns,  and  recalls  man  to  labor,  and  i 
all  nature. 

But  besides  the  constant  course  of  the  sun,  that  produce.^ 
day  and  night ;  during  six  months  it  approaches  one  polr, 
and  during  the  other  six,  the  opposite  one.     By  this  beau- 

35  tifui  order   one  sun  answers  for  the  whole  world.     If  the 


FART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER,  329 

sun,  at  the  same  distance,  were  larger,  it  would  light  the 
whole  world,  but  it  would  consume  ii  with  its  heat.  If  it 
were  smaller,  the  earth  would  be  all  ice,  and  could  not  te 
inhabited  by  men. 
5  What  compass  has  been  stretched  from  heaven  to  earth 
and  taken  such  just  measurements  ?  The  changes  of  th^ 
sun  make  the  -variety  of  the  seasons,  which  we  find  st 
delightful. 

The  Hand   that  guides  this  glorious  work  must  be  as 
10  skilful  as  it  is  powerful,  to  have  made  it  so  simple,  yet  so 
effectual ;  so  constant  and  so  beneficent. 


LESSON    CLXXV. CRESCENTIUS. MisS  LandoTl. 

I  looked  upon  his  brow, — no  sign 

Of  guilt  or  fear  was  there  ; 
He  stood  as  proud  by  that  death-shrine. 

As  even  o'er  despair 
5  He  had  a  power;  in  his  eye 

There  was  a  quenchless  energy, 

A  spirit  that  could  dare 
The  deadliest  form  that  death  could  take, 
And  dare  it  for  the  daring's  sake. 

10  He  stood,  the  fetters  on  his  hand, — 

He  raised  them  haughtily ; 
And  had  that  grasp  been  on  the  brand, 

It  could  not  wave  on  high 
With  freer  pride  than  it  waved  now. 
15  Around  he  looked  with  chanGreless  brow 

On  many  a  torture  nigh, — 
The  rack,  the  chain,  the  axe,  the  wheel, 
And,  worst  of  all,  his  own  red  steel. 

I  saw  him  once  before  ;  he  rode 
20  Upon  a  coal-black  steed. 

And  tens  of  thousands  thronged  the  road, 

And  bade  their  warrior  speed.  % 

His  helm,  his  breastplate,  were  of  gold,  -** 

And  graved  with  many  a  dint,  that  told 
25  Of  many  a  soldier's  deed  ; 

The  sun  shone  on  his  sparkling  mail. 

And  danced  his  snow-plume  on  the  gale. 
2S* 


830  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAIT  U, 

But  now  he  stood,  chained  and  alone, 

The  headsman  by  his  side  ; 
The  plume,  the  helm,  the  charger  gone ; 

The  sword,  that  had  defied 
6  The  mightiest,  lay  broken  near, 

And  yet  no  sign  or  sound  of  fear 

Came  from  that  lip  of  pride  ; 
And  never  king  or  conqueror's  brow 
Wore  higher  look  than  his  did  now. 

10  He  bent  beneath  the  headsman's  stroke, 

With  an  uncovered  eye  : 
A  wild  shout  from  the  numbers  broke 

Who  thronged  to  see  him  die. 
It  was  a  people's  loud  acclaim, 
15  The  voice  of  anger  and  of  shame, 

A  nation's  funeral  cry, — 
Rome's  wail  above  her  only  son. 
Her  patrio:, — and  her  latest  one. 


LESS)>J  CLXxvi. — ADDRESS  TO  THE  OCEAN. — Barry  CorT**"*^ 

O  thou  vast  Ocean  !  ever-sounding  sea  ! 

Thou  symbol  of  a  drear  immensity  ! 

Thou  thing  that  wind.?st  round  the  solid  world 

Like  a  huge  animal,  '.  hich,  downward  hurled 
5  From  the  black  clouds,  lies  weltering  and  alone, 

Lashing  and  writhing  till  its  strength  be  gone. 

Thy  voice  is  like  the  thunder ;  and  thy  sleep 

Is  like  a  giant's  slumber,  loud  and  deep. 

Thou  speakest  in  the  east  and  in  the  west 
10  At  once ;  and  on  thy  heavily  laden  breast 

Fleets  come  and  go,  and  shapes  that  have  no  life 

Or  motion,  yet  are  moved  and  meet  in  strife. 

The  earth  hath  naught  of  this  ;  nor  chance  nor  changa 

Ruffles  its  surface ;  and  no  spirits  dare 
15  Give  answer  to  the  tempest-waken  air; 

But  o'er  its  wastes,  the  weakly  tenants  range 

At  will,  and  wound  his  bosom  as  they  go. 

Ever  the  same,  it  hath  no  ebb,  no  flow  ; 

But  in  their  stated  round  the  seasons  come 
20  And  pass  like  visions  to  their  viewless  home, 

And  come  again  and  vanish  :  the  young  Spring 

Looks  ever  bright  with  leaves  and  blossoming, 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  331 

And  winter  always  winds  his  sullen  horn, 
And  the  wild  Autumn  with  a  look  forlorn 
Dies  in  his  stormy  manhood ;  and  the  skies 
Weep,  and  flowers  sicken  when  the  summer  flies. 

6  Thou  only,  terrible  Ocean,  hast  a  power, 

A  will,  a  voice  ;  and  in  thy  wrathful  hour. 
When  thou  dost  lift  thine  anger  to  the  clouds, 
A  fearful  and  magnificent  beauty  shrouds 
Thy  broad  green  forehead.     If  thy  waves  be  driven 
10  Backwards  and  forwards  by  the  shifting  wind, 
How  quickly  dost  thou  thy  great  strength  unbind, 
And  stretch  thine  arms,  and  war  at  once  with  heaven ! 

Thou  trackless  and  immeasurable  main ! 

On  thee  no  record  ever  lived  again 
15  To  meet  the  hand  that  writ  it ;  line  nor  lead 

Hath  ever  fathomed  thy  profoundest  deeps. 

Where  hap])ily  the  huge  monster  swells  and  sleeps, 

King  of  his  watery  limit,  who,  't  is  said. 

Can  move  the  mighty  ocean  into  storm. — 
20  Oh  !  wonderful  thou  art,  great  element : 

And  fearful  in  thy  splceny  humors  bent, 

And  lovely  in  repose  :  thy  summer  form 

Is  beautiful ;  and  when  thy  silver  waves 

Make  music  in  ea^th^s  dark  and  winding  caves, 
25  I  love  to  wander  on  thy  pebbled  beach. 

Marking  the  sunlight  at  the  evening  hour. 

And  hearken  to  the  thoughts  thy  waters  teach, — 

"Eternity,  Eternity,  and  power." 


LESSON    CLXXVII. THE    URSA   MAJOR. HENRY  WARE,  JUIf. 

With  what  a  stately  and  majestic  step 
That  glorious  Constellation  of  the  North 
Treads  its  eternal  circle  !  going  forth 
Its  princely  way  amongst  the  stars  in  slow 
6       And  silent  brightness.     Mighty  one,  all  hail  !  ;^ 

I  joy  to  see  thee  on  thy  glowing  path  ,^ 

Walk,  like  some  stout  and  girded  giant, — stern,  ^^ 

Unwearied,  resolute,  whose  toiling  foot 
Disdains  to  loiter  on  its  destined  way. 

10  The  other  tribes  forsake  their  midnight  track, 

And  rest  their  weary  orbs  beneath  the  wave 


y 


AJIEniCAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  [PART   It 

But  thou  dost  never  close  thy  burniiijj  eye, 
Niu:  stay  .thy  stcidfast  step.     But  on,  still  on, 
While  systems  change,  and  suns  retire,  and  worlds 
Slumlxir  and  wake,  thy  ceaseless  march  proceeds. 
5  The  near  horizon  tempts  to  rest  in  vain. 
Thou,  faithful  Sentinel,  dost  never  quit 
Thy  long  appointed  watch  ;  but,  sleepless  still, 
Dost  guard  the  fixed  light  of  the  universe, 
And  bid  the  North  forever  know  its  place. 

10       Ages  have  witnessed  thy  ae voted  trust, 

Unchanged,  unchanging.     When  the  sons  of  God 
Sent  forth  that  shout  of  joy,  which  rang  through  heaven 
And  echoed  from  the  outer  spheres  that  bound 
The  illimitable  universe, — thy  voice 

15  Joined  the  high  chorus ;  from  thy  radiant  orbs 
The  glad  cry  sounded,  swelling  to  His  praise 
Who  thus  had  cast  another  sparkling  gem, 
Little,  but  beautiful,  amid  the  crowd 
Of  splendors  that  enrich  his  firmament. 

20  As  thou  art  now,  so  wast  thou  then,  the  same. 

Ages  have  rolled  their  course,  and  Time  grown  gray ; 
The  earth  has  gathered  to  her  womb  again, 
And  yet  again,  the  myriads  that  were  born 
Of  her, — uncounted,  unremembered  tribes. 

25  The  seas  have  changed  their  beds, — the  eternal  hills 
Have  stooped  with  age, — the  solid  continents 
Have  left  their  banks, — and  man's  imperial  works. 
The  toil,  pride,  strength  of  kingdoms,  which  had  flun^ 
Their  haughty  honors  in  the  face  of  Heaven, 

30  As  if  immortal, — have  been  swept  away, — 
Shattered  and  mouldering,  buried  and  forgot. 
But  time  has  shed  no  dimness  on  thy  front. 
Nor  touched  the  firmness  of  thy  tread  ;  youth,  strengtK, 
And  beauty,  still  are  thine, — as  clear,  as  bright, 

35  As  when  the  Almighty  Former  sent  thee  forth, 
Beautiful  offspring  of  his  curious  skill. 
To  watch  earth's  northern  beacon,  and  proclaim 
Tiic  eternal  chorus  of  Eternal  Love. 

I  wonder  as  I  gaze.     That  stream  of  light, 
40  Undimmed,  unquenched, — ^just  as  I  see  it  now, — 
Has  issued  from  those  dazzling  points,  through  yean 


fARF   II.1  READER    AND   SPE. 

That  go  back  far  into  eternity. 
Exhaustless  flood  !  forever  spent,  renewl 
Forever  !     Yea,  and  those  refulgent  drops, 
Which  now  descend  upon  my  lifted  eye, 
5  Left  their  far  fountain  twice  three  years  ago. 

While  those  winged  particles, — whose  speed  outstrips 
The  flight  of  thought, — were  on  their  way,  the  earth 
Compassed  its  tedious  circuit  round  and  round, 
And  in  the  extremes  of  annual  change,  beheld 
10  Six  autumns  fade,  six  springs  renew  their  bloom. 
So  far  from  earth  those  mighty  orbs  revolve  ; 
So  vast  the  void  through  which  their  beams  descend  ! 

Yea,  glorious  lamps  of  God  !     He  may  have  quenched 
Your  ancient  flames,  and  bid  eternal  night 

15  Rest  on  your  spheres  ;  and  yet  no  tidings  reach 
This  distant  planet.     Messengers  still  come 
Laden  with  your  far  fire,  and  we  may  seem 
To  see  your  lights  still  burning ;  while  their  blaze 
But  hides  the  black  wreck  of  extinguished  realms, 

20  Where  anarchy  and  darkness  long  have  reigned. 

Yet  what  is  this,  which,  to  the  astonished  mind,        '' 
Seems  measureless,  and  which  the  baflled  thought 
Confounds  ?     A  span,  a  point,  in  those  domains. 
Which  the  keen  eye  can  traverse.     Seven  stars 
25  Dwell  in  that  brilliant  cluster,  and  the  sight 
Embraces  all  at  once  ;  yet  each  from  each 
Recedes  as  far  as  each  of  them  from  earth. 
And  every  star  from  every  other  burns 
No  less  remote. 

30  From  the  profound  of  heaven, 

Untravelled  even  in  thought,  keen  piercing  rays 
Dart  through  the  void,  revealing  to  the  sense 
Systems  and  worlds  unnumbered.     Take  the  glass. 
And  search  the  skies.     The  opening  skies  pour  down 

35  Upon  your  gaze,  thick  showers  of  sparkling  fire, — 
Stars,  crowded,  thronged,  in  regions  so  remote 
That  their  swift  beams, — the  swiftest  things  that  be, — 
Have  travelled  centuries  on  their  flight  to  earth. 
Earth,  Sun,  and  nearer  Constellations  !  what 

40  Are  ye,  amid  this  infinite  extent 

And  multitude  of  God's  most  infinite  works  ? 


334  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U 

And  these  are  Suns  ! — vast,  central,  living  fires, 
L«ttl^4)Ltlepcndent  systems,  Kings  of  worlds, 
That  wail  as  satellites  upon  their  power, 
And  flourish  in  their  smile.     Awake  my  soul, 
6  And  meditate  the  wonder  !     Countless  suns 

Blaze  round  thee,  leading  forth  their  countless  worlds! 
Worlds, — in  whose  bosoms  living  things  rejoice, 
And  drink  the  bliss  of  being,  from  the  fount 
Of  all-per\'ading  Love. 

10  What  mind  can  know, 

What  tongue  can  utter  all  their  multitudes, — 
Thus  numberless  in  numberless  abodes, 
Known  but  to  Thee,  blest  Father  ?     Thine  they  are, 
Thy  children,  and  Thy  care, — and  none  o'erlooked 

15  Of  Thee  !     No,  not  the  humblest  soul  that  dwells 
Upon  the  humblest  globe,  which  wheels  its  course 
Amid  the  giant  glories  of  the  sky, 
Like  the  mean  mote  that  dances  in  the  beam, 
Amongst  the  thousand  mirrored  lamps  which  fling 

20  Their  wasteful  splendor  from  the  palace  wall. 
None,  none  escape  the  kindness  of  Thy  care : 
All  compassed  underneath  Thy  spacious  wing. 
Each  fed  and  guided  by  Thy  powerful  hand. 

Tell  me,  ye  splendid  Orbs ! — as  from  your  thrones 

25  Ye  mark  the  rolling  provinces  that  own 

Your  sway, — what  beings  fill  those  bright  abodes? 
How  formed,  how  gifted;  what  their  powers,  their  state, 
Their  happiness,  their  wisdom?     Do  they  bear 
The  stamp  of  human  nature  ?     Or  has  God 

30  Peopled  those  purer  realms  with  lovelier  forms. 
And  more  celestial  minds?     Does  Innocence 
Still  wear  her  native  and  untainted  bloom  ? 
Or  has  Sin  breathed  his  deadly  blight  abroad. 
And  sowed  corruption  in  those  fairy  bowers? 

35  Has  War  trod  o  er  them  with  his  foot  of  fire? 

And  Slavery  forged  his  chains,  and  Wrath,  and  Hate, 
And  sordid  Selfishness,  aiyl  cruel  Lust, 
Leagued  their  base  bands  to  tread  out  Light  and  Truth 
And  scatter  woe  where  Heaven  had  planted  joy? 

40  Or  are  they  yet  all  Paradise,  unfallen 
And  uncorrupt ; — existence  one  long  joy. 
Without  disease  upon  the  frame,  or  sm 


PART  ::.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  335 

Upon  the  heart,  or  weariness  of  life, — 

Hope  never  quenched,  and  age  unknown, 

And  Jeath  unfeared ;  while  fresh  and  fadeless  youth 

Glows  in  the  light  from  God's  near  throne  of  Love? 

5       Open  your  lips,  ye  wonderful  and  fair !  -^9 

Speak,  speak  !  the  mysteries  of  those  living  worlds 
Unfold! — No  language!     Everlasting  light. 
And  everlasting  silence  !     Yet  the  eye 
May  read  and  understand.     The  hand  of  God 
10  Has  wri*»en  legibly  what  man  may  know, — 

The  glorv  of  the  Maker.     There  it  shines,  ^ 

Ineffable,  unchangeable  ;  and  man. 
Bound  to  the  surface  of  this  pigmy  globe, 
May  know  and  ask  no  more. 

15  In  other  days. 

When  death  shall  give  the  encumbered  spirit  wings, 
Its  range  shall  be  extended ;  it  shall  roam. 
Perchance,  amongst  those  vast  mysterious  spheres, 
Shall  pass  from  orb  to  orb,  and  dwell  in  each 

20  Familiar  with  its  children, — learn  their  laws, 
And  share  their  state,  and  study  and  adore 
The  infinite  varieties  of  bliss 
And  beauty,  by  the  hand  Divine 
Lavished  on  all  its  works. 

25  Eternity 

Shan  tnus  ron  on  with  ever  fresh  delight ; 

No  pause  of  pleasure  or  improvement ;  world 

On  world  still  opening  to  the  instructed  mind 

An  unexhausted  universe,  and  time  * 

30  But  adding  to  its  glories;  while  the  soul, 

Advancing  ever  to  the  source  of  light 

Anl  all  f erfejlion,  lives,  adores,  and  reigns, 

In  cloudless  knowledge,  purity,  and  bliss. 


LESSON    CLXXVIII. THE    FATE    OF    TYRANNY. Moson 

Oppression  dies  :  the  tyrant  falls  : 
The  golden  city  bows  her  walls ! 

Jehovah  breaks  the  avenger's  rod. 
The  son  of  Wrath,  whose  ruthless  hand 
Hulls  desoiation  o*er  the  land, 


AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  & 

Has  run  his  raginff  race,  has  closed  the  scene  of  blood. 

Chiefs,  armed  around,  behold  iheir  vanquished  lord ; 
Nor  spread  the  fjuardian  shield,  nor  lift  the  loyal  sword. 
He  falls ;  and  earth  again  is  free : 
Hark  !  at  the  call  of  Liberty, 

All  Nature  lifts  the  choral  song. 
The  fir-trees  on  the  mountain's  head, 
Rejoice  through  all  their  pomp  of  shade ; 
The  lordly  cedars  nod  on  sacred  Lebanon : 

Tyrant !  they  cry,  since  thy  fell  force  is  broke, 
Our  proud  heads  pierce  the  skies,  nor  fear  the  woodman's  scroke 

•  Hell,  from  her  gulf  profound, 
Rouses  at  thine  approach ;  and  all  around, 
Her  dreadful  notes  of  preparation  sound. 

See,  at  the  awful  call. 

Her  shadowy  heroes  all, 
E*en  mighty  kings,  the  heirs  of  empire  wnde, 

Rising  with  solemn  state,  and  slow, 

From  their  sable  thrones  below, 
Meet  and  insult  thy  pride. 

"  What !  dost  thou  join  our  ghostly  tram, 

A  flitting  shadow  light  and  vain  ? 

Where  is  thy  pomp,  thy  festive  throng. 

The  revel  dance,  and  wanton  song  ? 
Proud  king !    Corruption  fastens  on  thy  breast ; 
And  calls  her  crawling  brood,  and  bids  them  share  the  feasl 

"  O  Lucifer !  thou  radiant  star  ; 
Son  of  the  Morn  ;  whose  rosy  car 

Flamed  foremost  in  the  van  of  day ; 
How  art  thou  fallen,  thou  King  of  Light! 
How  fallen  from  thy  meridian  height ! 
Who  saidst,  *  The  distant  poles  shall  hear  me  and  obey. 
High  o'er  the  stars  my  sapphire  throne  shall  glow. 
And,  as  Jehovah's  tjelf,  my  voice  the  heavens  shall  bow.* " 

He  spake,  he  died.     Distained  with  gore. 
Beside  yon  yawning  cavern  hoar, 

See  where  his  livid  corse  is  laid. 
The  aged  pilgrim,  passing  by. 
Surveys  him  long  with  dubious  eye, 
And  muses  on  his  fate,  and  shakes  his  reverend  head 

"Just  Heavens!  is  thus  thy  pride  imperial  gone^ 
b  this  poor  heap  of  dust  the  King  of  Babylon  ? 


FART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  337 

Is  this  the  man,  whose  nod 
Made  the  earth  tremble ;  whose  terrific  rod 
Levelled  her  loftiest  cities  ?    Where  he  trod, 

Famine  pursued  and  frowned ; 

Till  Nature,  groaning  round. 
Saw  her  rich  realms  transformed  to  deserts  dry, 

While,  at  his  crowded  prison's  gate, 

Grasping  the  keys  of  fate. 
Stood  stern  Captivity. 

Vain  man !  behold  thy  righteous  doom ; 

Behold  each  neighboring  monarch's  tomb ; 

The  trophied  arch,  the  breathing  bust, 

The  laurel  shades  their  sacred  dust : 
While  thou,  vile  outcast,  on  this  hostile  plain, 
Moulder*st  a  vulgar  corse,  among  the  vulgar  slain. 

"  No  trophied  arch,  no  breathing  bust, 
Shall  dignify  thy  trampled  dust: 

No  laurel  flourish  o'er  thy  grave. 
For  why,  proud  king,  thy  ruthless  hand 
Hurled  desolation  o'er  the  land, 
And  crushed  the  subject  race,  whom  kings  are  born  to  sare: 

Eternal  infamy  shall  blast  thy  name. 
And  all  thy  sons  shall  share  their  impious  father's  shame. 

**  Rise,  purple  Slaughter !  furious  rise ; 
Unfold  the  terror  of  thine  eyes ; 

Dart  thy  vindictive  shafts  around : 
Let  no  strange  land  a  shade  afford. 
No  conquered  nations  call  them  lord ; 
Nor  let  their  cities  rise  to  curse  the  goodly  ground. 
For  thus  Jehovah  swears ;  *  No  name,  no  son, 
No  remnant  shall  remain  of  haughty  Babylon.' " 

Thus  saith  the  righteous  Lord  : 
"  My  vengeance  shall  unsheathe  the  flaming  sword ; 
O'er  all  thy  realms  my  fury  shall  be  poured. 

Where  yon  proud  city  stood, 

I  'II  spread  the  stagnant  flood ; 
And  there  the  bittern  in  the  sedge  shall  lurk, 

Moaning  with  sullen  strain  ; 

While,  sweeping  o'er  the  plain, 
Destruction  ends  her  work. 

Yes,  on  mine  holy  mountain's  brow, 

I  '11  crush  this  proud  Assyrian  foe 
29 


33S  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCUOOL  [PAET  IL 

The  irrevocable  word  is  spoke. 

From  Judah's  neck  the  galling  yoke 
Spontaneous  falls,  she  shines  with  wonted  stale  ; 
Thus  by  myself  I  swear,  and  what  1  swear  is  fate.** 


LESSON    CLXXIX. THE    DOWNFALL   OF    POLAND. 

Tko??ias  Campbell, 

O  sacred  Truth !  thy  triumph  ceased  a  while, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile, 
When  leagued  Oppression  poured  to  Northern  wars 
Her  whiskered  panders  and  her  fierce  hussars, 
6        Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  mom, 

Pealed  her  loud  drum,  and  twanged  her  trumpet  horn, 
Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'er  her  van. 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland, — and  to  man  ! 

Warsaw's  last  champion  from  her  height  surveyed, 
10         Wide  o'er  the  fields  a  waste  of  ruin  laid, — 

O  Heaven  !  he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save  !— 
Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 
Vet,  though  destruction  sweep  these  lovely  plains, 
Rise,  fellow-men  !  our  country  yet  remains ! 
15         By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high ! 
And  swear  for  her  to  live  ! — with  her  to  die  ! 

He  said,  and  on  the  rampart-heights  arrayed 
His  trusty  warriors,  few,  but  undismayed ; 
Firm-paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form, 
20         Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm ; 

Low  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
*  Revenge,  or  death,' — the  watch-word  and  reply ; 
Then  pealed  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm, 
And  the  loud  tocsin  told  their  last  alarm ! 

26        In  vain,  alas  !  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few ! 

From  rank  to  rank  your  volleyed  thunder  flew:— 
Oh !  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  Time, 
Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a  crime  ;  .^| 

Found  not  a  generous  friend,  a  pitying  foe,  ^^  j 

90         Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  woe !  ! 

Dropped  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear 
Closed  her  bright  eye,  and  curbed  her  high  career; 
Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell. 
And  Freedom  si      '     I — as  Kosciusko  fell. 


PART   n.]  READEK    AND    SPEAKER.  339 

The  sun  went  down,  nor  ceased  the  carnage  there ; 
Tumultuous  murder  shook  the  midnight  air, — 
On  Prague's  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow, 
His  hlood-dyed  waters  murmuring  far  below; 
5         The  storm  prevails,  the  rampart  yields  away, 
Bursts  the  wild  cry  of  horror  ancl  dismay ! 
Hark !  as  the  mouldering  piles  with  thunder  fall,  , 
A  thousand  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call ! 
Earth  shook, — red  meteors  flashed  along  the  sky, 
10         And  conscious  Nature  shuddered  at  the  cry ! 

O  righteous  Heaven !  ere  Freedom  found  a  grave, 
Why  slept  the  sword,  omnipotent  to  save  ? 
Where  was  thine  arm,  O  vengeance !  where  thy  rod, 
That  smote  the  foes  of  Sion  and  of  God ; 

15         That  crushed  proud  Ammon,  when  his  iron  car 
Was  yoked  in  wrath,  and  thundered  from  afar  ? 
Where  was  the  storm  that  slumbered  till  the  host 
Of  blood-stained  Pharaoh  left  their  trembling  coast  • 
Then  bade  the  deep  in  wild  commotion  flow, 

20         And  heaved  an  ocean  on  their  march  below  ? 

Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead  ! 
Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled  I 
Friends  of  the  world  !  restore  your  swords  to  man. 
Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van  ! 
25         Yet  for  Sarmatia's  tears  of  blood  atone. 

And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own ! 
Oh  !  once  again  to  freedom's  cause  return 
"I'he  patriot  Tell, — the  Bruce  of  Bannockburn  ! 

Yes,  thy  proud  lords,  unpitied  land  !  shall  see 
30         That  man  hath  yet  a  soul, — and  dare  be  free  ! 
A  little  while,  along  thy  saddening  plains. 
The  starless  night  of  Desolation  reigns  ; 
Truth  shall  restore  the  light  by  Nature  given, 
And,  like  Prometheus,  bring  the  fire  of  Heaven ! 
35         Prone  to  the  dust  Oppression  shall  be  hurled, 

Her  name,  her  nature,  withered  from  the  world ! 


LESSON    CLXXX. NAPOLEON    AT    REST. JOHN    PIERPONT. 

His  falchion  flashed  along  the  Nile  ; 

His  hosts  he  led  through  Alpine  snows ; 
O'er  Moscow's  towers,  that  blazed  the  while, 

His  eagle  flag  unrolled, — and  froze. 


340  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCUOOL  [PAXI    IL 

Here  sleeps  he  now,  alone !     Not  one, 
Of  all  the  kings,  whose  crowns  he  gave, 

Bends  o*er  his  dust; — nor  wife  nor  son 
Has  ever  seen  or  sought  his  grave. 

6         Behind  this  sea-girt  rock,  the  star, 

That  led  him  on  from  crown  to  crown, 
Has  sunk ;  and  nations  from  afar 
Gazed  as  it  faded  and  went  down. 

High  is  his  couch ; — the  ocean  flood, 
10  Far,  far  below,  by  storms  is  curled  ; 

As  round  him  heaved,  wiiile  high  He  stood, 
A  stormy  and  unstable  world. 

Alone  he  sleeps !     The  mountain  cloud, 

That  night  hangs  round  him,  and  the  breath 
15         Of  morning  scatters,  is  the  shroud 

That  wraps  the  conqueror's  clay  in  death. 

Pause  here  !     The  far-ofT  world,  at  last. 

Breathes  free ;  the  hand  that  shook  its  thrones, 
And  to  the  earth  its  mitres  cast, 
20  Lies  powerless  now  beneath  these  stones. 

Hark !  comes  there,  from  the  pyramids, 

And  from  Siberian  wastes  of  snow, 
And  Europe's  hills,  a  voice  that  bids 

The  world  he  awed  to  mourn  him  ? — No : 

85         The  only,  the  perpetual  dirge 

That 's  heard  there,  is  the  sea-bird's  cry,^ 
The  mournful  murmur  of  the  surge, — 

The  cloud's  deep  voice,  the  wind's  low  sigh. 


LESSON  CLXXXI. — NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. DR.  CIIANNIN^. 

Such  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  But  some  will  say, 
was  still  a  great  man.  This  we  mean  not  to  deny.  B\ 
we  would  have  it  understood,  that  there  are  various  kiiK 
or  orders  of  greatness,  and  that  the  highest  did  not  belon| 
5  10  Bonaparte.  There  are  diflferent  orders  of  greatnesj 
Among  these  the  first  rank  is  unquestionably  due  to  mori 
greatness,  or  magnanimity;  to  that  sublime  energy,  bi 
which  the  soul,  smitten  with  the  love  of  virtue,  binds  itscl] 


PART   U.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  341 

indissolubly,  for  life  and  for  death,  to  truth  and  duty; 
espouses  as  its  own  the  interests  of  human  nature ;  scorns 
all  meanness  and  defies  all  peril ;  hears  in  its  own  con- 
science a  voice  louder  than  threatenings  and  thunders ; 
5  withstands  all  the  powers  of  the  universe,  which  would 
sever  it  from  the  cause  of  freedom,  virtue,  and  religion  ; 
reposes  an  unfaltering  trust  in  God  in  the  darkest  hour, 
and  is  ever  "ready  to  be  offered  up"  on  the  altar  of  its 
country  or  of  mankind.     Of  this  moral  greatness,  which 

10  throws  all  other  forms  of  greatness  into  obscurity,  we  see 
not  a  trace  or  a  spark  in  Napoleon.  Though  clothed  with 
the  power  of  a  God,  the  thought  of  consecrating  himself 
to  the  introduction  of  a  new  and  higher  era,  to  the  exalta- 
tion of  the  character  and  condition  of  his  race,  seems  never 

15  to  have  dawned  on  his  mind.  The  spirit  of  disinterested- 
ness and  self-sacrifice  seems  not  to  have  waged  a  moment's 
war  with  self-will  and  ambition.  His  ruling  passions  were 
singularly  at  variance  with  magnanimity.  Moral  great- 
ness has  too  much  simplicity,  is  too  unostentatious,  too 

20  self-subsistent,  and  enters  into  others'  interests  with  too 
much  heartiness,  to  live  a  day  for  what  Napoleon  always 
lived,  to  make  itself  the  theme,  and  gaze,  and  wonder  oi  a 
dazzled  w^orld. 

Next  to  moral,  comes  intellectual  greatness,  or  genius  in 

25  the  highest  sense  of  that  word ;  and  by  this,  we  mean  that 
sublime  capacity  of  thought,  through  which  the  soitl,  smit- 
ten with  the  love  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  essays  to 
comprehend  the  universe,  soars  into  the  heavens,  pene- 
trates the  earth,  penetrates  itself,  questions  the  past,  anti- 

30  cipates  the  future,  traces  out  the  general  and  all-compre- 
hending laws  of  nature,  binds  together  by  innumerable 
affinities  and  relations  all  the  objects  of  its  knowledge, 
and,  not  satisfied  with  what  is  finite,  frames  to  itself  ideal 
excellence,  loveliness,  and   grandeur.     This  is  the  great- 

35  ncss  which  belongs  to  philosophers,  inspired  poets,  and  to 
the  master  spirits  of  the  fine  arts. 

Next  comes  the  greatness  of  action;  and  by  this  we 
mean  the  sublime  power  of  conceiving  and  executing  bold 
and  extensive  plans  ;  constructing  and  bringing  to  bear  on 

40  a  mighty  object  a  complicated  machinery  of  means,  ener- 
gies, and  arrangements,  and  accomplishing  great  outward 
effects.  To  this  head  belongs  the  greatness  of  Bonaparte, 
and  that  he  possessed  it,  we  need  not  prove,  and  none  will 
be  hardy  enough  to  deny.  A  man  who  raised  himself 
29=^ 


342  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PABT   II. 

from  ohscurity  to  a  throne,  who  chani^ed  the  face  of  the 
world,  who  made  himself  felt  through  powerful  and  civil- 
ized nations^  who  sent  the  terror  of  his  name  across  seas 
and  oceans,  whose  will  was  pronounced  and  feared  as  des- 

6  tiny,  whose  donatives  were  crowns,  whose  ante-chamber 
was  thronged  by  submissive  princes,  who  broke  down  the 
awful  barrier  of  the  Alps,  and  made  them  a  highway,  and 
whose  fame  was  spread  beyond  the  boundaries  of  civiliza- 
tion to  the  steppes  of  the  Cossack,  and  the  deserts  of  tli- 

10  Arab;  a  man,  who  has  left  this  record  of  himself  in  his- 
tory, has  taken  out  of  our  hands  the  question  whether  he 
shall  be  called  great.  All  must  concede  to  him  a  sublime 
power  of  action,  an  energy  equal  to  great  effects. 


LESSON   CLXXXIL — THE    THUNDER   STORM. — WASHINGTON 

IRVING. 

[Scenery  in  the  Highlands,  on  the  River  Hudson.] 
In  the  second  day  of  the  voyage,  they  came  to  the  High- 
lands.    It  was  the  latter  part  of  a  calm,  sultry  day,  that 
they  floated  gently  with  the  tide  between  these  stern  moun- 
6  tains.     There  was  that  perfect  quiet,  which  prevails  over 
nature,  in  the  languor  of  summer  heat ;  the  turning  of  a 
plank,  or  the  accidental  falling  of  an  oar,  on  deck,  was 
echoed  from  the  mountain  side,  and  reverberated  along 
the  shores;  and,  if  by  chance,  the  captain  gave  a  shout  of 
10  command,  there  were  airy  tongues  that  mocked  it,  from 
every  clifT. 

Dolph  gazed  about  him,  in  mute  delight  and  wonder,  ai 
these  scenes  of  nature's  magnificence.  To  tlie  left,  the 
Dunderberg  reared  its  woody  precipices,  height  over 
15  height,  forest  over  forest,  away  into  the  deep  summer  sky. 
To  the  right,  strutted  forth  the  bold  promontory  of  An- 
tony's Nose,  with  a  solitary  eagle  wheeling  about  it ; 
while  beyond,  mountain  succeeded  to  mountain,  until  ihey 
seemed  to  lock  their  arms  together,  and  confine  this 
20  mighty  river  in  their  embraces.  There  was  a  f <  '  >f 
quiet  luxury  in  gazing  at  the  broad,  green  bosoi  e 

and  there,  scooped  out  among  the  precipices;  or  at  wood- 
lands high  in  air,  nodding  over  the  edge  of  some  beetling 
blufT,  and  their  foliage  all  transparent  in  the  yellow  sudp 
35  shine. 

In  the  midst  of  his  admiration,  Dolph  remarked  a  pile 

jiffhti 


of  bright  snowy  clouds,  peering  above  the  western  heights 


TART   II.]  EEADER   AND   SPEAKER.  34.1 

It  was  succeeded  by  another,  and  another,  each  seemingly 
pushing  onwards  its  predecessor,  and  towering,  with  daz 
zling  brilliancy,  in  the  deep  blue  atmosphere :  and  now 
muttering  peals  of  thunder  were  faintly  heard,  rolling  be- 
5  hind  the  mountains.  The  river,  hitherto  still  and  glassy, 
reflecting  pictures  of  the  sky  and  land,  now  showed  a  dark 
ripple  at  a  distance,  as  the  breeze  came  creeping  up  it. 
The  fish-hawks  wheeled  and  screamed,  and  sought  their 
nests  on  the  high  dry  trees  ;  the  crows  flew  clamorously 

10  to  the  crevices  of  the  rocks ;  and  all  nature  seemed  con- 
scious of  the  approaching  thunder-gust. 

The  clouds  now  rolled,  in  volumes,  over  the  mountain 
tops ;  their  summits  still  bright  and  snowy,  but  the  lower 
parts  of  an  inky  blackness.    The  rain  began  to  patter  down 

15  in  broad  and  scattered  drops ;  the  wind  freshened,  and 
curled  up  the  waves  ;  at  length,  it  seemed  as  if  the  belly- 
ing clouds  were  torn  open  by  the  mountain  tops,  and  com- 
plete torrents  of  rain  came  rattling  down.  The  lightning 
leaped  from  cloud  to  cloud,  and  streamed  quivering  against 

20  the  rocks,  splitting  and  rending  the  stoutest  forest  trees. 
The  thunder  burst  in  tremendous  explosions ;  the  peals 
were  echoed  from  mountain  to  mountain  ;  they  crashed 
upon  Dunderberg,  and  then  rolled  up  the  long  defile  of  the 
Highlands,  each  headland  making  a  new  echo,  until  old 

25  Bull  Hill  seemed  to  bellow  back  the  storm. 

For  a  time,  the  scudding  rack  and  mist,  and  the  sheeted 
rain,  almost  hid  the  landscape  from  the  sight.  There  was 
a  fearful  gloom,  illumined  still  more  fearfully  by  the 
streams  of  lightning,  which  glittered  among  the  rain-drops. 

30  Never  had  Dolph  beheld  such  an  absolute  warring  of  the 
elements  ;  it  seemed,  as  if  the  storm  was  tearing  and  rend- 
ing its  way  through  this  mountain  defile,  and  had  brought 
all  the  artillery  of  heaven  into  action. 


LESSON  CLXXXIII. CLASSICAL  LEARNING. JOSEPH  STORY. 

The  importance  of  classical  learning  to  professional  ed- 
ucation, is  so  obvious,  that  the  surprise  is,  that  it  could 
ever  have  become  matter  of  disputation.  I  speak  not  of 
its  power  in  refining  the  taste,  in  disciplining  the  judg- 
5  ment,  in  invigorating  the  understanding,  or  in  warming 
the  heart  with  elevated  sentiments ;  but  of  its  power  of 
direct,  positive,  necessary  instruction.  Until  the  eigh 
teenth     century,    the   mass   of    science,    in    its    principa. 


344  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   n. 

branches,  was  deposiied  in  the  dead  languages,  and  much 
of  it  still  reposes  there.  To  be  ignorant  of  these  Ian* 
guages,  is  to  shut  out  the  lights  of  former  times,  or  to  ex- 
amine them  only  through  the  glimmerings  of  inadequate 
5  translations. 

It  is  often  said,  that  there  have  been  eminent  men  and 
eminent  writers,  to  whom  the  ancient  languages  were  un- 
known,— men  who  have  risen  by  the  force  of  their  talents, 
and   writers    who  have  written  with    a  purity  and  ease 

*0  which  hold  them  up,  as  models  for  imitation.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  as  often  said,  that  scholars  do  not  alway? 
compose  either  with  elegance  or  chasteness ;  that  their 
diction  is  sometimes  loose  and  harsh,  and  sometimes  pon- 
derous and  affected. 

15  Be  it  so.  I  am  not  disposed  to  call  in  question  the  ac- 
curacy of  either  statement.  But  I  would,  nevertheless, 
say  that  the  presence  of  classical  learning  was  not  the 
cause  of  the  faults  of  the  one  class,  nor  the  absence  of  it, 
the  cause   of  the  excellence  of  the  other.     And  I  would 

20  put  this  fact,  as  an  answer  to  all  such  reasonings,  that 
there  is  not  a  single  language  of  modern  Europe,  in  which 
literature  has  made  any  considerable  advances,  which  is 
not  directly  of  Roman  origin,  or  has  not  incorporated  into 
its  very  structure  many,  very  many,  of  the  idioms  and  pe- 

25  culiarities  of  the  ancient  tongues.  The  English  language 
affords  a  strong  illustration  of  the  truth  of  this  remark. 
It  abounds  with  words  and  meanings  drawn  from  classical 
sources.  Innumerable  phrases  retain  the  symmetry  of 
their   ancient   dress.     Innumerable  expressions    have  re- 

30  ceived  their  vivid  tints  from  the  beautiful  dyes  of  Roman 
and  Grecian  roots.  If  scholars,  therefore,  do  not  write 
our  language  with  ease,  or  purity,  or  elegance,  the  cause 
must  lie  somewhat  deeper  than  a  conjectural  ignorance  of 
its  true  diction. 

35  I  repeat,  there  is  not  a  single  nation  from  the  north  to 
the  south  of  Europe,  from  the  bleak  shores  of  the  Baltic 
to  the  bright  plains  of  immortal  Italy,  whose  literature  is 
not  imbedded  in  the  very  elements  of  classical  learning. 
The  literature  of  England  is,  in  an  emphatic  sense,  the 

40  production  of  her  scholars, — of  men  who  have  cultivated 
letters  in  her  universities,  and  colleges,  and  grammar- 
schools, — of  men  who  thought  any  life  too  short,  chiefly 
because  it  left  some  relic  of  antiquity  unmastercd,  and  any 
other  fame  humble,  because  it  faded  in  the  presence  of 


PART   II.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  845 

Roman  and  Grecian  genius.  He  who  studies  Englia.i  lit- 
erature without  the  lights  of  classical  learning,  loses  half 
the  charms  of  its  sentiments  and  style,  of  its  force  and 
feelings,  of  its  delicate  touches,  of  its  delightful  allusions, 
5  of  its  illustrative  associations.  Who  that  reads  the  poetry 
of  Gray,  does  not  feel  that  it  is  the  refinement  of  classical 
taste,  which  gives  such  inexpressible  vividness  and  trans- 
parency to  his  diction  ?  Who  that  reads  the  concentrated 
sense  and  melodious  versification  of  Dryden  and  Pope, 
10  does  not  perceive  in  them  the  disciples  of  the  old  school, 
whose  genius  was  inflamed  by  the  heroic  verse,  the  terse 
satire,  and  the  playful  wit  of  antiquity  ?  Who  that  medi- 
tates over  the  strains  of  Milton,  does  not  feel  that  he  drank 
deep 

15  At  "  Siloa's  brook,  that  flowed 

Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God  j" 

that  the   fires  of  his  magnificent  mind  were  lighted  by 
coals  from  ancient  altars  ? 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  declare,  that  he  who  proposes  to 

20  abolish  classical  studies,  proposes  to  render,  in  a  great 
measure,  inert  and  unedifying  the  mass  of  English  litera- 
ture for  three  centuries  ;  to  rob  us  of  much  of  the  glory  of 
the  past,  and  much  of  the  instruction  of  future  ages ;  to 
blind  us  to  excellences  which  few  may  hope  to  equal,  and 

25  none  to  surpass ;  to  annihilate  associations  which  are  in- 
terwoven with  our  best  sentiments,  and  give  to  distant 
times  and  countries  a  presence  and  reality,  as  if  they  were, 
in  fact,  our  own. 


LESSON  CLXXXIV. THE  BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT. DANIEL 

WEBSTER. 

The  Bunker  Hill  Monument  is  finished.  Here  it  stands. 
Fortunate  in  the  natural  eminence  on  which  it  is  placed. 
— higher,  infinitely  higher,  in  its  objects  and  purpose,  it 
rises  over  the  land,  and  over  the  sea ;  and  visible,  at  their 
5  homes,  to  three  hundred  thousand  citizens  of  Massachu- 
setts,— it  stands,  a  memorial  of  the  last,  and  a  monitor  Ic 
the  present,  and  all  succeeding  generations. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  loftiness  of  its  purpose.     If  it  had 

been  without  any  other  design  than  the  creation  of  a  work 

10  of  art,  the  granite,  of  which  it  is  composed,  would  have 

slept  in  its  native  bed.     It  has  a  purpose ;  and  that  pu^ 


346  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

pose  gives  it  character.  That  purpose  enrobes  it  with  dig- 
nity and  moral  grandeur.  That  well  known  purpose  it  is, 
which  causes  us  to  look  up  to  it  with  a  feeling  of  awe. 
5  It  is  itself  the  orator  of  this  occasion.  It  is  not  from  my 
lips,  it  is  not  from  any  himian  lips,  that  that  strain  of  elo- 
quence is  this  day  to  flow,  most  competent  to  move  and 
excite  the  vast  multitudes  around.  The  potent  speaker 
stands    motionless  before    them.     It  is  a  plam  shaft.     It 

10  bears  no  inscriptions,  fronting  to  the  rising  sun,  from 
which  the  future  antiquarian  shall  wipe  the  dust.  Nor 
does  the  rising  sun  cause  tones  of  music  to  issue  from  its 
summit.  But  at  the  rising  of  the  sun,  and  at  the  setting 
of  the    sun,  in    the  blaze   of  noon-day,  and  beneath  the 

15  milder  efl^ulgence  of  lunar  light,  it  looks,  it  speaks,  it  acts, 
to  the  full  comprehension  of  every  American  mind,  and 
the  awakening  of  glowing  enthusiasm  in  every  American 
heart.  Its  silent,  but  awful  utterance  ;  its  deep  pathos,  as 
it  brings  to  our  contemplation  the  17th  of  June,  1775,  and 

20  the  consequences  which  have  resulted  to  us,  to  our  coun- 
try, and  to  the  world,  from  the  events  of  that  day,  and 
which  we  know  must  continue  to  rain  influence  on  the 
destinies  of  mankind,  to  the  end  of  lime ;  the  elevation 
with  which  it  raises  us  high  above  the  ordinary  feelings 

25  of  life,  surpass  all  that  the  study  of  the  closet,  or  even  the 
inspiration  of  genius  can  produce.  To-day,  it  speaks  to 
us.  Its  future  auditories  will  be  through  successive  gen- 
erations of  men,  as  they  rise  up  before  it,  and  gather  round 
it.     Its  speech  will  be  of  patriotism  and  courage  ;  of  civil 

30  and  religious  liberty  ;  of  free  government ;  of  the  moral 
improvement  and  elevation  of  mankind  ;  and  of  the  im- 
mortal memory  of  those  who,  with  heroic  devotion,  have 
sacrificed  their  lives  for  their  country. 


LESSON   CLXXXV. — APPEAL   IN  FAVOR   OF  THE    UNION.— ' 
JAMES  MADISON. 

I  submit  to  you,  my  fellow-citizens,  these  considerations, 
in  full  confidence  that  the  qfood  sense,  which  has  so  often 
marked  your  decisions,  will  allow  them  their  due  weight 
and  effect;  and  that  you  will  never  suffer  difficulties,  how- 
6  ever  formidable  in  appearance,  or  however  fashionable 
the  error  on  which  they  may  be  founded,  to  drive  you  into 
the  gloomy  and  perilous  scenes,  into  which  the  advoca 
for  disunion  would  conduct  you. 


i 


fAKT   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  347 

Hearken  not  to  the  unnatural  voice,  which  tells  you  that 
the  people  of  America,  knit  together,  as  they  are,  by  so 
many  cords  of  affection,  can  no  longer  live  together,  as 
members  of  the  same  family  ;  can  no  longer  continue  the 
5  mutual  guardians  of  their  mutual  happiness ;  can  no  lon- 
ger be  fellow-citizens  of  one  great,  respectable  and  flour- 
ishing empire.  Hearken  not  to  the  voice,  which  petulant- 
ly tells  you,  that  the  form  of  government,  recommended 
for  your  adoption,  is  a  novelty  in  the  political  world ;  that 

10  it  has  never  yet  had  a  place  in  the  theories  of  the  wildest 
projectors  ;  that  it  rashly  attempts  what  it  is  impossible  to 
accomplish.  No,  my  countrymen  ;  shut  your  ears  against 
this  unhallowed  language.  Shut  your  hearts  against  the 
poison  which  it  conveys.    The  kindred  blood,  which  flows 

15  in  the  veins  of  American  citizens,  the  mingled  blood, 
which  they  have  shed  in  defence  of  their  sacred  rights, 
consecrates  their  union,  and  excites  horror  at  the  idea  of 
their  becoming  aliens,  rivals,  enemies.  And  if  novelties 
are  to  be  shunned,  believe  me,  the  most  alarming  of  all 

20  novelties,  the  most  wild  of  all  projects,  the  most  rash  of  all 
attempts,  is  that  of  rending  us  in  pieces,  in  order  to  pre- 
serve our  liberties,  and  promote  our  happiness. 

But  why  is  the  experiment  of  an  extended  republic  to  be 
rejected,  merely  because  it  may  comprise  what  is  new  ? 

25  Is  it  not  the  glory  of  the  people  of  America,  that,  whilst 
they  have  paid  a  decent  regard  to  the  opinions  of  former 
limes,  and  other  nations,  they  have  not  suffered  a  blind 
veneration  for  antiquity,  for  custom,  or  for  names,  to  over- 
rule the  suggestions  of  their  own  good  sense,  the  knowl- 

30  edge  of  their  own  situation,  and  the  lessons  of  their  own 
experience  ?  To  this  manly  spirit,  posterity  will  be  in- 
debted for  the  possession,  and  the  world  for  the  example, 
of  the  numerous  innovations  displayed  on  the  American 
theatre,  in  favor  of  private  rights,  and  public  happiness. 

35  Had  no  important  step  been  taken  by  the  leaders  of  the 
revolution,  for  which  a  precedent  could  not  be  discovered  ; 
had  no  government  been  established,  of  which  an  -  '»d- 

el  did  not  present  itself, — the  people  of  the  Uni  iies 

might,  at  this  moment,  have  been  numbered  among  the 

40  melancholy  victims  of  misguided  councils  ;  must,  at  best, 
have  been  laboring  under  the  weight  of  some  of  those 
forms,  which  have  crushed  the  liberties  of  the  rest  of  man- 
kind. 

Happily,  for  America,  happily,  we  trust,  for  the  whole 


348  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART    IL 

human  race,  ihey  pursued  a  new  and  more  noble  course. 
They  accomplished  a  revolution,  which  has  no  parallel 
in  ihe  annals  of  human  society.  They  reared  fabrics  of 
government,  which  have  no  model  on  the  face  of  the  globe 
6  They  formed  the  design  of  a  great  confederacy,  which  it 
is  incumbent  on  their  successors  to  improve  and  perpetu 
atp.  If  their  works  betray  imperfections,  we  wonder  a* 
the  fewness  of  them.  If  they  erred  most  in  the  structure 
of  the  union,  this  was  the  work  most  difficult  to  be  exccu- 
10  ted ;  this  is  the  work  which  has  been  new-modelled  by 
the  act  of  your  convention ;  and  it  is  that  act,  on  which 
you  are  now  to  deliberate  and  decide. 


LESSON  CLXXXVL FRANCE  AND  ENGLAND. ^JOHN  C. 

CALHOUN. 

The  love  of  France,  and  the  hatred  of  England,  have 
also  been  assigned  as  the  cau^e  o^  the  present  measures. 
"  France  has  not  done  us  justice,"  says  the  gentleman  from 
Virginia ;  "and  how  can  we,  without  partiality,  resist  the 

6  aggressions  of  England  ?"  I  know,  sir,  we  have  still  cause 
of  complaint  against  France  ;  but  it  is  of  a  diflferent  char- 
acter from  those  against  England.  She  professes  now  to 
respect  our  rights,  and  there  cannot  be  a  reasonable  doubt, 
that  the  most  objectionable   parts   of  her  decrees,  as  far 

10  as  they  respect  us,  are  repealed.  We  have  already  for- 
mally acknowledged  this  to  be  a  fact. 

I,  however,  protest  against  the  whole  of  the  principles 
on  which  this  doctrine  is  founded.  It  is  a  novel  doctrine, 
and  nowhere  to  be  found  out  of  this  house,  that  you  can- 

15  not  select  your  antagonist,  without  being  guilty  of  partial- 
ity. Sir,  when  two  invade  your  rights,  you  may  resist 
both,  or  either,  at  your  pleasure.  It  is  regulated  by  pru- 
dence, and  not  by  right.  The  stale  imputation  of  partial- 
ity to  France,  is  better  calculated  for  the  columns   of  a 

20  newspaper,  than  for  the  walls  of  this  house.  I  ask,  in 
this  particular,  of  the  gentleman  from  Virginia,  but  for  the 
same  measure  which  he  claims  for  himself.  That  gen- 
tleman is  at  a  loss  to  account  for,  what  he  calls,  our  hatred 
to  England.     He  asks,  *'  How  can  we  hate  the  country  of 

25  Locke,  of  Newton,  Hampden  and  Chatham ;  a  country 
having  the  same  language  and  customs  with  ourselves, 
and  descending  from  a  common  ancestry?"  Sir,  the  laws 
of  human  affections  are  uniform.     If  wc  have  so  much  to 


PART   n.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  349 

attach  us  to  tliat  country,  powerful,  indeed,  must  be  the 
cause  which  has  overpowered  it. 

Yes,  sir,  there  is  a  cause  strong  enough.  Not  that  oc- 
cult, courtly  affection,  which  he  has  supposed  to  be  enter- 
5  tained  for  France  ;  but  it  is  to  be  found  in  continued  and 
unprovoked  insult  and  injury, — a  cause  so  manifest,  that 
the  gentleman  from  Virginia  had  to  exert  much  ingenuity 
to  overlook  it.  But,  sir,  here  I  think  the  gentleman,  in 
his  eager  admiration  of  that  country,  has  not  been  sufH- 

10  ciently  guarded  in  his  argument.  Has  he  reflected  on 
the  cause  of  that  admiration  ?  Has  he  examined  the  rea- 
sons of  our  high  regard  for  her  Chatham  ?  It  is  his  ardent 
patriotism ;  the  heroic  courage  of  his  mind,  that  could  not 
brook  the  least  insult  or  injury  offered  to  his  country,  but 

15  thought  that  her  interest  and  honor  ought  to  be  vindi- 
cated, at  every  hazard  and  expense.  I  hope,  when  we  are 
called  on  to  admire,  we  shall  also  be  asked  to  imitate.  I 
hope  the  gentleman  does  not  wish  a  monopoly  of  those 
great  virtues  to  remain  to  that  nation. 

20  "The  balance  of  power"  has  also  been  introduced  as  an 
argument  for  submission.  England  is  said  to  be  a  barrier 
against  the  military  despotism  of  France.  There  is,  sir, 
one  great  error  in  our  legislation.  We  are  ready  enough 
to  protect  the  interests  of  the  States,  and  it  should  seem, 

25  from  this  argument,  to  watch  over  those  of  a  foreign  na- 
tion, while  we  grossly  neglect  our  own  immediate  con- 
cerns. This  argument  of  the  balance  of  power,  is  well 
calculated  for  the  British  parliament,  but  not  at  all  fitted 
to  the  American  congress.     Tell  them,  that  they  have  to 

30  contend  with  a  mighty  power,  and  that,  if  they  persist  in 
insult  and  injury  to  the  American  people,  they  will  com- 
pel them  to  throw  the  whole  weight  of  their  force  into  the 
scale  of  their  enemy.  Paint  the  danger  to  them ;  and  if 
they  will  desist  from  injury,  we,  I  answer  for  it,  will  not 

15  disturb  the  balance.  But  it  is  absurd  for  us  to  talk  of  the 
balance  of  power,  while  they,  by  their  conduct,  smile  with 
contempt  at  our  simple,  good-natured  policy.  If,  however, 
in  the  contest,  it  should  be  found,  that  they  underrate  us, 
which  I  hope  and  believe,  and  that  we  can  efl'ect  the  bal- 

40  ance  of  power,  it  will  not  be  difRcult  for  us  to  obtain  such 
terms  as  our  rights  demand. 

I,  sir,  will  now  conclude,  by  adverting  to  an  argument 
of  the  gentleman  from  Virginia,  used  in  debate  /)n  a  pre- 
ceding day.  He  asked,  "  Why  not  declare  war  immediate- 
30 


350  AMETwlCAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [rART    tl 

ly  V*  The  answer  is  obvious ;  because  we  are  not  yet  pre- 
pared. But»  says  the  gentleman,  **  such  language  as  is 
here  held  will  provoke  Great  Britain  to  connnence  hostil- 
ities." 1  have  no  such  fears.  She  knows  well,  that  such 
5  a  course  would  unite  all  parties  here  ;  a  thing,  which,  above 
all  otliers,  slie  most  dreads.  Besides,  such  has  been  our 
past  conduct,  that  she  will  still  calculate  on  our  patience 
and  submission,  till  war  is  actually  commenced. 


LESSON    CLXXXVn. APPEAL   FOR    IRELAND. —  HENRY   CLAY. 

[From  aa  Address  at  a  Public  Meeting  in  New  Orleans,  February 

4th,  1847.] 

Mr.  President — If  we  were  to  hear  that  large  numbers 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Asia,  or  Africa,  or  Australia,  or  the 
remotest  part  of  the  globe,  were  daily  dying  with  hunger 
and  famine — no  matter  what  their  color,  what  their  reli- 
5  gion,  or  what  their  civilization — we  should  deeply  lament 
their  condition,  and  be  irresistibly  prompted  to  mitigate,  if 
possible,  their  sufferings. 

But  it  is  not  the  distresses  of  any  such  distant  regions 
that  have  summoned  us  together  on  this  occasion.     The 
10  appalling  and  heart-rending  distresses  of  Ireland  and  Irish- 
men form  the  object  of  our  present  consultation. 

That  Ireland,  which  has  been,  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
our  national  existence,  our  friend,  and  has  ever  extended 
to  us  her  warmest  sympathy — those  Irishmen,  who,  in 
15  every  war  in  which  we  have  been  engaged,  on  every  battle 
field,  from  Quebec  to  Monterey,  have  stood  by  us,  shoul- 
der to  shoulder,  and  shared  in  all  the  perils  and  fortunes 
of  the  conflict. 

The  imploring  appeal  comes  to  us  from  the  Irish  nation. 
20  which  is  so  identified  with  our  own,  as  to  be  almost  part 
and  parcel  of  ours,  bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh  of  our  flesh. 
Nor  is  it  any  ordinary  case  of  human  misery,  or  a  few 
isolated  cases  of  death  by  starvation,  that  we  are  callctl 
upon  to  consider.  Famine  is  stalking  abroad  throughout 
25  Ireland ;  whole  towns,  counties — countless  human  beings, 
of  every  age,  and  of  both  sexes — at  this  very  i!KMnen^M| 
starving,  or  in  danger  of  starving  to  death.  4B 

Behold  the  wretched  Irish  mother — with  hatr'Tard  looBs 


30 


and  streaming  eyes — her  famished  children  clinging  to  her 
tattered  garments,  and  gazing  pitcously  in  her  face  begging 


.ART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  351 

for  food!  And  sec  the  distracted  husband  and  father,  witli 
pallid  cheeks,  standing  by,  horror  and  despair  depicted  in 
his  countenance — tortured  with  the  reflection  that  he  can 
aflord  no  succor  or  relief  to  the  dearest  objects  of  his  heart, 
5  about  to  be  snatched  forever  from  him  by  the  most  cruel 
of  all  deaths. 

This  is  no  fancy  picture ;  but,  if  we  are  to  credit  the 
terrible  accounts  which  reach  us  from  that  theatre  of 
misery  and  wretchedness,  is  one  of  daily  occurrence.     In- 

10  deed,  no  imagination  can  conceive — no  tongue  express — 
no  pencil  paint — the  horrors  of  the  scenes  which  are  there 
daily  exhibited. 

Shall  starving  Ireland  plead  in  vain  ? — shall  the  young 
and  the  old — dying  women  and  children,  stretch  out  their 

15  hands  to  us  for  bread,  and  find  no  relief?  Will  not  this 
great  city,  the  world's  store-house  of  an  exhaustless  supply 
of  all  kinds  of  food,  borne  to  its  overflowing  warehouses  by 
the  Father  of  Waters,  act,  on  this  occasion,  in  a  manner 
worthy  of  its  high  destiny,  and  obey  the  noble  impulses  of 

20  the  generous  hearts  of  its  blessed  inhabitants  ? 


LESSON  CLXXXVIII. LOSS  OF  NATIONAL  CHARACTER. MAXCY. 

The  loss  of  a  firm  national  character,  or  the  degradation 
of  a  nation's  honor,  is  the  inevitable  prelude  to  her  destruc- 
tion. Behold  the  once  proud  fabric  of  a  Roman  empire, — 
an  Empire  carrying  its  arts  and  arms,  into  every  part  of 
5  the  eastern  continent;  the  monarchs  of  mighty  kingdoms, 
dragged  at  the  wheels  of  her  triumphal  chariots  ;  her  eagle 
waving  over  the  ruins  of  desolated  countries.  Where  is 
her  splendor,  her  wealth,  her  power,  her  glory?  Extin- 
guished for  ever.      Her  mouldering  temples,  the  mournful 

10  vestiges  of  her  former  grandeur,  afibrd  a  shelter  to  her 
muttering  monks.  Where  are  her  statesmen,  her  sages, 
her  philosophers,  her  orators,  her  generals  ?  Go  to  their 
solitary  tombs,  and  inquire.  She  lost  her  national  char- 
acter, and  her  destruction  followed.    The  ran>parts  of  her 

15  national  pride  were  broken  down,  and  Vandalism  desola- 
ted her  classic  fields. 

Citizens  will  lose  their  respect  and  confidence  in  our 
goveniment,  if  it  does  not  extend  over  them  the  shield  of 
an  honorable  national  character.    Corruption  will  creep  in, 

20  and  sharpen  party  animosit3\  Ambitious  leaders  will  seize 
upon  the  favorable  moment     The  mad  enthusiasm   foi 


362  AMERICA:!   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PABT  H 

revolution,  will  call  into  action  the  irritated  spirit  of  oui 
nation,  and  civil  war  must  follow.  The  swords  of  oui 
countrymen  may  yet  glitter  on  our  mountains ;  their  blood 
may  yet  crimson  our  plains. 
5  Such, — the  warning  voice  of  all  antiquity,  the  example 
of  all  republics  proclaim, — may  be  our  fate.  But  let  us 
no  longer  indulge  these  gloomy  anticipations.  The  com- 
mencement of  our  liberty,  presages  the  dawn  of  a  brighter 
period,  to  the  world.     That  bold,  enterprising  spirit  which 

10  conducted  our  heroes  to  peace  and  safely,  and  gave  us  a 
lofty  rank  amid  the  empires  of  the  world,  still  animates 
the  bosoms  of  their  descendants.  Look  back  to  thai 
moment,  when  they  unbarred  the  dungeons  of  the  slave, 
and  dashed  his  fetters  to  the  earth ;  when  the  sword  of  a 

15  Washington  leaped  from  its  scabbard,  to  revenge  the 
slaughter  of  our  countrymen.  Place  their  example  before 
you.  Let  the  sparks  of  their  veteran  wisdom  flash  across 
your  minds,  and  the  sacred  altars  of  your  liberty,  crowned 
with  immortj\l^  honors,  rise  before  you.     Relying  on  the 

20  virtue,  the  courage,  the  patriotism,  and  the  strength  of  our 
country,  we  may  expect  our  national  character  will  become 
more  energetic,  our  citizens  more  enlightened,  and  may 
hail  the  age,  as  not  far  distant,  when  will  be  heard,  as  th*' 
proudest  exclamation  of  man  :  "  I  am  an  American.** 


LESSON  CLXXXIX. LAFAYETTE    AND   NAPOLEON. 

E.  EVERETT. 

Of  all  the  ancient  nobility,  who  returned  to  France, 
Lafayette  and  the  young  Count  de  Vaudreuil,  were  the 
only  individuals  who  refused  the  favors  which  Napoleon 
was  eager  to  accord  to  them.  Of  all  to  whom  the  cross 
6  of  the  legion  of  honor  was  tendered,  Lafayette  alone  had 
the  courage  to  decline  it.  Napoleon,  either  for  want  of 
true  perception  of  moral  greatness,  or  because  the  detesta- 
ble servility  of  the  mass  of  returning  emigrants  had  taught 
him  to  think  there  was  no  such  thing  as  honor  or  inde- 

10  pendence  in  man,  exclaimed,  when  they  told  him  that 
Lafayette  refused  the  decoration,  *'  What,  will  nothing 
satisfy  that  man  but  the  chief  command  of  the  National 
Guard  of  the  empire  ?  '* — Yes,  much  less  abundantly  sat- 
isfied him ; — the  quiet  possession  of  the  poor  remnants  of 

15  his  estate,  enjojed  without  sacrificing  his  principles. 

From  this  life  nothinir  could  draw  him.     Mr.  JeffersoB 


fART  II.  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  353 

offered  him  the  place  of  <:^overnor  of  Louisiana,  then  just 
become  a  territory  of  the  United  States  ;  but  he  was  unwil- 
lins^,  by  leaving  France,  to  take  a  step  that  would  look  like 
a  final  abandonment  of  the  cause  of  constitutional  liberty, 
5  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  Napoleon  ceased  to  impor- 
tune him ;  and  he  lived  at  La^ange,  retired  and  unmo- 
lested, the  only  man  who  had  gone  through  the  terrible 
revolution,  with  a  character  free  from  every  just  impeach- 
ment.     He  entered   it  with  a   princely  fortune, — in    the 

10  various  high  offices  which  he  had  filled  he  had  declined 
all  compensation, — and  he  came  out  poor.  He  entered  it 
in  the  meridian  of  early  manhood,  with  a  frame  of  iron. 
He  came  out  of  it  fifty  years  of  age,  his  strength  impaired 
by  the  cruelties  of  his  long  imprisonment.     He  had  filled 

15  the  most  powerful  and  responsible  offices ;  and  others  still 
more  powerful, — the  dictatorship  itself, — had  been  offered 
him ; — he  was  reduced  to  obscurity  and  private  life.  He 
entered  the  revolution  with  a  host  of  ardent  colleagues  of 
the  constitutional  party.     Of  those  who  escaped  the  guil- 

20  lotine,  most  had  made  peace  with  Napoleon ;  not  a  few  of 
the  Jacobins  had  taken  his  splendid  bribes  ;  the  emigrating 
nobility  came  back  in  crowds,  and  put  on  his  livery ;  fear, 
interest,  weariness,  amazement,  and  apathy  reigned  in 
France  and  in  Europe  ; — kings,  emperors,  armies,  nations, 

25  bowed  at  his  footstool ; — and  one  man  alone, — a  private 
man,  who  had  tasted  power,  and  knew  what  he  sacrificed ; 
— who  had  inhabited  dungeons,  and  knew  what  he  risked ; 
— who  had  done  enough  for  liberty,  in  both  worlds,  to  sat- 
isfy the  utmost  requisitions  of  her  friends,  this  man  alone 

30  stood  aloof  in  his  honor,  his  independence,  and  his  poverty. 
And  if  there  is  a  man  in  this  assembly,  that  would  not 
rather  have  been  Lafayette  to  refuse,  than  Napoleon  lo 
bestow  his  wretched  gewgaws  ;  that  would  not  rather  have 
been  Lafayette  in  retirement  and  obscurity,  and  just  not 

35  proscribed,  than  Napoleon,  with  an  emperor  to  hold  his 
stirrup ; — if  there  is  a  mnn  who  would  not  have  preferred 
the  honest  poverty  of  Lagrange  to  the  bloody  tinsel  of  St. 
Cloud ; — that  would  not  rather  have  shared  the  peaceful 
fireside  of  the  friend  of  Washington,  than  have  spurred  his 

40  triumphant  courser  over  the  crushed  and  blackened  heaps 
of  slain,  through  the  fire  and  carnage  of  Marengo  and  Aus- 
terlitz,  that  man  has  not  an  American  heart  in  his  bosoia. 


30* 


354                                AISntlCAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  U 

LESSON  CXC. THE  VISION  OF  LIBERTY. HENRY  WARE,  TK. 

The  evening  heavens  were  cahn  and  bright ; 

No  dimness  rested  on  the  glittering  light, 
That  sparkled  from  that  wilderness  of  worlds  on  high ; 

Those  distant  suns  burned  on  with  quiet  ray; 
6       The  placid  planets  held  their  modest  way ; 

And  silence  reigned  profound  o'er  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky. 

Oh  !  what  an  hour  for  lofty  thought ! 

My  spirit  burned  within  ;  I  caught 
A  holy  inspiration  from  the  hour. 
10       Around  me,  man  and  nature  slept ; 

Alone  my  solemn  watch  I  kept, 
Till  morning  dawned,  and  sleep  resumed  her  power. 

A  vision  passed  upon  my  soul. 
I  still  was  gazing  up  to  heaven, 
15  As  in  the  early  hours  of  even  ; 

I  still  beheld  the  planets  roll, 
And  all  those  countless  sons  of  light 
Flame  from  the  broad  blue  arch,  and  guide  the  moonle«a 
night. 

20       When  lo !  upon  the  plain. 

Just  where  it  skirts  the  swelling  main, 
A  massive  castle,  far  and  high, 
In  towering  grandeur  broke  upon  my  eye. 
Proud  in  its  strength  and  years,  the  ponderous  pile 
25       Flung  up  its  time-defying  towers ; 
Its  lofty  gates  seemed  scornfully  to  smile 

At  vain  assault  of  human  powers. 
And  threats  and  arms  deride. 
Its  gorgeous  carvings  of  heraldic  pride, 
30       In  giant  masses  graced  the 'walls  above  ; 
And  dungeons  yawned  below. 

Yet  ivy  there  and  moss  their  garlands  wove, 
Grave,  silent  chroniclers  of  time's  protracted  flow 

Bursting  on  my  steadfast  gaze, 
35       See,  within,  a  sudden  blaze  ! 

So  small  at  first,  the  zephyr's  slightest  swell, 

That  scarcely  stirs  the  pine-tree  top. 

Nor  makes  the  withered  leaf  to  drop. 
The  feeble  fluttering  of  that  flame  would  quell. 


\r 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  355 

But  soon  it  spread, — 
Waving,  rushing,  fierce,  and  red, — 
From  wall  to  wall,  from  tower  to  tower, 
Raging  with  resistless  power ; 
6  Till  every  fervent  pillar  glowed, 

And  every  stone  seemed  burning  coal. 
Instinct  with  living  heat  that  flowed 

Like  streaming  radiance  from  the  kindled  pole. 

Beautiful,  fearful,  grand, 
10       Silent  as  death,  I  saw  the  fabric  stand. 

At  length  a  crackling  sound  began  ; 

From  side  to  side,  throughout  the  pile  it  ran ; 

And  louder  yet  and  louder  grew, 

Till  now  in  rattling  thunder-peals  it  grew ; 

Huge  shivered  fragments  from  the  pillars  broke, 

Like  fiery  sparkles  from  the  anvil's  stroke. 

The  shattered  walls  were  rent  and  riven, 

And  piecemeal  driven, 

Like  blazing  comets  through  the  troubled  sky. 
20  'Tis  done;  what  centuries  had  reared. 

In  quick  explosion  disappeared, 

Nor  even  its  ruins  met  my  wondering  eye. 

But  in  their  place, — 
Bright  with  more  than  human  grace, 
25  Robed  in  more  than  mortal  seeming. 

Radiant  glory  in  her  face. 

And  eyes  with  heaven's  own  brightness  beaming, — 
Rose  a  fair  majestic  form, 
As  the  mild  rainbow  from  the  stonn. 
30       I  marked  her  smile,  I  knew  her  eye  ; 

And  when,  with  gesture  of  command. 
She  waved  aloft  the  cap-crowned  wand. 
My  slumbers  fled  mid  shouts  of  "  Liberty  r' 

Read  ye  the  dream  ?  and  know  ye  not 
35  How  truly  it  unlocked  the  world  of  fate  ? 

Went  not  the  flame  from  this  illustrious  spot, 

And  spreads  it  not,  and  burns  in  every  state  ? 
And  when  their  old  and  cumbrous  walls. 
Filled  with  this  spirit,  glow  intense, 
40  Vainly  they  reared  their  impotent  defence : 

The  fabr/c  falls ! 


356  AMERICAN    CO»lMON-SCHOOL  [PABT  O. 

That  fervent  energy  must  spread, 

Till  despotism's  towers  be  overthrown*, 

And  in  their  stead, 
Liberty  stands  alone ! 

5       Hasten  the  day,  just  Heaven  ! 
Accomplish  thy  design ; 
And  let  the  blessings  thou  hast  freely  given, 

Freely  on  all  men  shine ; 
Till  equal  rights  be  equally  enjoyed, 
iO       And  human  power  for  human  good  employed ; 
Till  law,  not  man,  the  sovereign  rule  sustain, 
And  peace  and  virtue  undisputed  reign. 


LESSON  CXCI. SHAKSPE ARE. ^-CHARLES  SPRAGUE 

Then  Shakspeare  rose  ! — 
Across  the  trembling  strings 
His  daring  hand  he  flings, 
And  lo  !  a  new  creation  glows  ! — 
5  There  clustering  round,  submissive  to  his  will. 
Fate's  vassal  train  his  high  commands  fulfil. 

Madness,  with  his  frightful  scream, 
Vengeance,  leaning  on  his  lance, 
Avarice,  with  his  blade  and  beam, 
10  Hatred,  blastir.g  with  a  glance. 

Remorse,  that  weeps,  and  Kage,  that  roars, 
And  Jealousy,  that  dotes,  but  dooms,  and   murders,  yet 
adores. 

Mirth,  his  face  with  sunbeams  lit, 
Waking  Laughter's  merry  swell, 
15  Arm  in  arm  with  fresh-eyed  Wit, 

That  waves  his  tingling  lash,  while  Folly  shakes  his  uell. 
From  the  feudal  tower  pale  Terror  rushing. 
Where  the  prophet  bird's  wail 
Dies  along  the  dull  gale, 
20  And  the  sleeping  monarch's  blood  is  gushing. 

Despair,  that  haunts  the  gurgling  stream. 
Kissed  by  the  virgin  moon's  cold  beam. 
Where  some  lost  maid  wild  chaplets  wreathes, 
And  swan-like  there  her  own  dirge  breathes, 


PART   U.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  357 

Then  broken-hearted  sinks  to  rest, 
Beneath  the  bubbling  wave  that  shrouds  her  maniac  breast 

Young  Love,  with  eye  of  tender  gloom, 
Now  drooping  o'er  the  hallowed  tomb, 
5  Where  his  plighted  victims  lie, 

Where  they  met,  but  met  to  die : — 
And  now,  when  crimson  buds  are  sleeping. 

Through  the  dewy  arbor  peeping, 
Where  beauty's  child,  the  frowning  world  forgot, 
10  To  youth's  devoted  tale  is  listening. 

Rapture  on  her  dark  lash  glistening, 
While  fairies  leave  their  cowslip  cells,  and  guard  the  hap- 
py spot. 

Thus  rise  the  phantom  throng, 
Obedient  to  their  master's  song, 

15  And  lead  in  willing  chain  the  wondering  soul  along. 

For  other  worlds  war's  great  one  sighed  in  vain,-^ 
O'er  other  worlds  see  Shakspeare  rove  and  reign ! 
The  rapt  magician  of  his  own  wild  lay. 
Earth  and  her  tribes  his  mystic  wand  obey ; 

20  Old  ocean  trembles,  thunder  cracks  the  skies. 

Air  teems  with  shapes  and  tell-tale  spectres  rise : 
Night's  paltering  hags  their  fearful  orgies  keep. 
And  faithless  guilt  unseals  the  lip  of  sleep: 
Time  yields  his  trophies  up,  and  death  restores 

25  The  mouldered  victims  of  his  voiceless  shores. 

The  fireside  legend,  and  the  faded  page. 
The  crime  that  cursed,  the  deed  that  blessed  an  age, 
All,  all  come  forth, — the  good  to  charm  and  cheer, 
To  scourge  bold  vice,  and  start  the  generous  tear ; 

20  With  pictured  folly  gazing  fools  to  shame, 

And  guide  young  Glory's  foot  along  the  path  of  fame. 


LESSON    CXCII. SPEECH   OF    RIENZI    TO   THE    ROMANS. MisS 

Mitford. 

RienzL   Friends, 
I  come  not  here  to  talk.     Ye  know  too  well 
The  story  of  our  thraldom.     We  are  slaves  ! 
The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course,  and  lights 
A  race  of  slaves  !     He  sets,  and  his  last  beam 
Falls  on  a  slave  :  not  such  as,  swept  along 


353  AMERlfcAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  leads 
To  crimson  glory  ami  undying  fame, 
But  base,  ignoble  slaves, — slaves  to  a  horde 
Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots  ;  lords, 
6     Rich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages, — 

Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen, — only  great 

In  that  strange  spell, — a  name.     Each  hour,  dark  fraud, 

Or  open  rapine,  or  protected  murder. 

Cries  out  against  them.     But  this  very  day, 

10     An  honest  man,  my  neighbor,  there  he  stands, — 
Was  struck, — struck  like  a  dog,  by  one  who  woro 
The  badge  of  Ucsini ;  because,  forsooth, 
He  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air, 
Nor  lifted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts, 

15     At  sight  of  that  great  ruffian.     Be  we  men, 

And  suffer  such  dishonor  ?     Men,  and  wash  not 
The  stain  away  in  blood  ?     Such  shames  are  common. 
I  have  known  deeper  wrongs.     I,  that  speak  to  ye, 
I  had  a  brother  once,  a  gracious  boy, 

20     Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope, — 

Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy, — "  there  was  the  look 
Of  heaven  upon  his  face,  which  limners  give 
To  the  beloved  disciple."     How  I  loved 
That  gracious  boy  !     Younger  by  fifteen  years, 

25     Brother,  at  once,  and  son  !     "  He  left  my  side, 
A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks, — a  smile 
Parting  his  innocent  lips."     In  one  short  hour 
The  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain !     I  saw 
The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 

30     For  vengeance ! — Rouse,  ye  Romans ! — Rouse,  ye  slaves 
Have  ye  brave  sons?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die.     Have  ye  fair  daughters  ?     Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  distained. 
Dishonored  ;  and,  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice, 

35     Be  answered  by  the  lash.     Yet,  this  is  Rome, 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world  !     Yet,  we  are  Romans. 
Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king !     And  once  again, — 

40     Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus !  once  again  1  swear. 
The  eternal  city  shall  be  free !  her  sons 
Shall  walk  with  prihces. 


FART   n.]                           READER    AND    SPEAKER.  359 

LESSON  CXCIII. SAME    SUBJECT. ThomOS  MoOTt, 

"Romans!  look  round  you, — on  this  sacred  place 

There  >nce  stood  shrines,  and  gods,  and'godlike  men^ 
What  see  you  now  ?  what  solitary  trace 

Is  left  of  all  that  made  Rome's  glory  then? 
5  The  shrines  are  sunk,  the  sacred  mount  bereft 

Even  of  its  name, — and  nothing  now  remains 
But  the  deep  memory  of  that  glory,  left 

To  whet  our  pangs  and  aggravate  our  chains! 
But  shall  this  be '( — our  sun  and  sky  the  same, 
10       Treading  the  very  soil  our  fathers  trod, — 

What  withering  curse  hath  fallen  on  soul  and  frame, 

What  visitation  hath  there  come  from  God, 
To  *blast  our  strength,  and  rot  us  into  slaves. 
Here,  on  our  great  forefathers'  glorious  graves  ? 
15  It  cannot  be, — rise  up,  ye  mighty  dead, 

If  we,  the  living,  are  too  weak  to  crush 
These  tyrant  priests,  that  o'er  your  empire  tread, 

TjU  all  but  Romans  at  Rome's  tameness  blush ! 

Happy  Palmyra  !  in  thy  desert  domes, 
20       Where  only  date-trees  sigh,  and  serpents  hiss ; 
And  thou,  whose  pillars  are  but  silent  homes 

For  the  stork's  brood,  superb  Persepolis ! 
Thrice  happy  both,  that  your  extinguished  race 
Have  left  no  embers, — no  half-living  trace, — 
25  No  slaves,  to  crawl  around  the  once  proud  spot. 
Till  past  renown  in  present  shame's  forgot; 
While  Rome,  the  queen  of  all,  whose  very  wrecks, 

If  lone  and  lifeless  through  a  desert  hurled, 
Would  wear  more  true  magnificence  than  decks 
30       The  assembled  thrones  of  all  the  existing  world, 
Rome,  Rome  alone,  is  haunted,  stained,  and  cursed, 

Through  every  spot  her  princely  Tiber  laves. 
By  living  human  things, — the  deadliest,  worst. 
That  earth  engenders, — t\Tants  and  their  slaves ! 
*i3  And  we, — oh  !  shame, — we,  who  have  pondered  o'er 
The  patriot's  lesson,  and  the  poet's  lay ; 
Have  mounted  up  the  streams  of  ancient  lore, 

Tracking  our  country's  glories  all  the  way, — 
Even  we  have  tamely,  basely  kissed  the  ground, 
40       Before  that  Papal  Power,  that  Ghost  of  Her, 
The  World's  Imperial  Mistress, — sitting,  crowned 
And  ghastly,  on  her  mouldering  sepulchre ! 


360  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  fPART   U. 

But  this  is  past, — too  long  have  lordly  priests 
And  priestly  lords  led  us,  with  all  our  pride 
Withering"  about  us, — like  devoted  beasts. 

Dragged  to  the  shrine,  with  faded  garlands  tied. 
5  'Tis  o*er, — the  dawn  of  our  deliverance  breaks! 
Up  from  his  sleep  of  centuries  awakes 
The  Genius  of  the  Old  Republic,  free 
As  first  he  stood,  in  chainless  majesty, 
And  sends  his  voice  through  ages  yet  to  come, 
10  Proclaiming  Rome,  Rome,  Rome,  Eternal  Rome ! " 


LESSON  CXCIV. GUSTAVUS  VASA  TO  THE  SWEDES. Brookt 

Are  ye  not  marked,  ye  men  of  Dalecarlia, 

Are  ye  not  marked  by  all  the  circling  world. 

As  the  last  stake  ?     What  but  liberty, 

Through  the  famed  course  of  thirteen  hundred  years, 
6  Aloof  hath  held  invasion  from  your  hills, 

And  sanctified  their  name  ?    And  will  ye,  will  ye 

Shrink  from  the  hopes  of  the  expecting  world. 

Bid  your  high  honors  stoop  to  foreign  insult, 

And  in  one  hour  give  up  to  infamy 
10  The  harvest  of  a  thousand  years  of  glory  ? 

Die  all  first ! 

Yes,  die  by  piecemeal ! 

Leave  not  a  limb  o'er  which  a  Dane  can  triumph ! 

Now  from  my  soul  I  joy,  I  joy  my  friends, 
15  To  see  ye  feared ;  to  see  that  even  your  foes 

Do  justice  to  your  valor  ! — There  they  are, 

The  powers  of  kingdoms,  summed  in  yonder  host, 

Yet  kept  aloof,  yet  trembling  to  assail  ye, 

And  oh !  when  I  look  around  and  see  you  here, 
20  Of  number  short,  but  prevalent  in  virtue, 

My  heart  swells  high,  and  burns  for  the  encounter. 

True  courage  but  from  opposition  grows ; 

And  what  are  fifty,  what  a  thousand  slaves, 

Matched  to  the  virtue  of  a  single  arm 
25  That  strikes  for  liberty  ?  that  strikes  to  save 

His  fields  from  fire,  his  infants  from  the  sword. 

And  his  large  honors  from  eternal  infamy  ? 

What  doubt  we  then  ?     Shall  we,  shall  we  stand  here  ? 

Let  us  on ! 
30  Firm  arc  our  hearts,  and  nervous  are  our  arms, 


1 


I 


PART    U.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  3G 

With  US  truth,  justice,  fame,  and  freedom  close, 
Each,  singly,  equal  to  a  host  of  foes. 


LESSON  CXCV. A  FIELD  OF  BATTLE,—- Shelley. 

Ah !  whence  yon  glare 
That  fires  the  arch  of  heaven  ? — that  dark  red  smoke 
Blotting  the  silver  moon  ?     The  stars  are  quenched 
In  darkness,  and  the  pure  and  spangling  snow 
6  Gleams  faintly  through  the  gloom  that  gathers  round ! 
Hark  to  that  roar,  whose  swif^and  deafening  peals, 
In  countless  echoes,  through  the  mountain  ring. 
Starting  pale  Midnight  on  her  starry  throne ! 
Now  swells  the  intermingling  din ;  the  jar, 

10  Frequent  and  frightful,  of  the  hursting  bomb; 

The  falling  beam,  the  shriek,  the  groan,  the  shout, 
The  ceaseless  clangor,  and  the  rush  of  men 
Inebriate  with  rage  !     Loud,  and  more  loud. 
The  discord  grows,  till  pale  Death  shuts  the  scene, 

15  And  o'er  the  conqueror  and  the  conquered  draws 
His  cold  and  bloody  shroud.     Of  all  the  men. 
Whom  day's  departing  beam  saw  blooming  there, 
In  proud  and  vigorous  health, — of  all  the  hearts,     ^ 
That  beat  with  anxious  life  at  sunset  there, — 

20  How  few  survive  I  how  few  are  beating  now  ! 
All  is  deep  silence,  like  the  fearful  calm 
That  slumbers  in  the  storm's  portentous  pause ; 
Save  when  the  frantic  wail  of  widowed  love 
Comes  shuddering  on  the  blast,  or  the  faint  moan 

95  With  which  some  soul  bursts  from  the  frame  of  clay 
Wrapt  round  its  strugghng  powers. 

The  gray  mom 
Dawns  on  the  mournful  scene  ;  the  sulphurous  smoke 
Before  the  icy  wind  slow  rolls  away, 

30  And  the  bright  beams  of  frosty  morning  dance 

Along  the  spangling  snow.     There  tracks  of  blood, 
Even  to  the  forest's  depth,  and  scattered  anns. 
And  lifeless  warriors,  whose  hard  lineaments 
Death's  self  could  change  not,  mark  the  dreadful  path 

^5  Of  the  outsallying  victors  :  far  behind, 

Black  ashes  note  where  their  proud  city  stood. 
Within  yjn  forest  is  a  gloomy  glen, — 
Each  tree  which  guards  its  darkness  from  the  day, 
Waves  o'er  a  warrior's  tomb. 

31  


362  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   H 

LESSON   CXCVI. RESISTANCE    TO    OPPRESSION. PATRICK 

HENRY. 

Mr.  President, — It  is  natural  for  man  to  indulge  in  th« 
illusions  of  hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a 
painful  truth,  and  listen  to  the  song  of  that  syren,  till  she 
transforms  us  into  beasts.  Is  this  the  part  of  wise  men 
6  engaged  in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for  liberty  ?  Are 
we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  those,  who,  having 
eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the  things  which 
so  nearly  concern  their  temporal  salvation  ?  For  my 
part,  whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  may  cost,  I  am  willing 

10  to  know  the  whole  truth ;  to  know  the  worst,  and  to  pro- 
vide for  it. 

I  have  but  one  lamp,  by  which  my  feet  are  guided ;  and 
that  is  the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of 
judging  of  the   future  but  by  the  past.     And  judging  by 

15  the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what  there  is  in  the  conduct  of 
the  British  ministry,  for  the  last  ten  years,  to  justify  those 
hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased  to  solace 
themselves  and  the  House  ?  Is  it  that  insidious  smile, 
with  which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received  ?     Trust 

20  it  not,  sir ;  it  will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feet.  Suffer  not 
yourselves  to  be  betrayed  with  a  kiss. 

Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  reception  of  our  peti- 
tion comports  with  those  warlike  preparations  which 
cover  our  waters  and  darken  our  land.     Are  fleets  and 

25  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and  reconciliation  ? 
Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be  reconciled, 
that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our  love?  Let 
us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir.  These  are  the  implements 
of  war  and  subjugation;    the  last  arguments   to  which 

30  kings  resort. 

I  ask  gentlemen,  sir,  what  means  this  martial  array,  i/ 
its  purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission  ?  Can  gentle 
men  assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it?  Has  Grea 
Britain  any  enemy,  in  this  quarter  of  the  world,  to  call  fo 

35  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  armies?  No,  sir,  she 
has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us  :  they  can  be  meant  for 
no  other.  They  are  sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon  us 
those  chains,  which  the  British  ministry  have  been  so  long 
forging.     And    what   have  we   to  oppose   them?     Shall 

40  we  try  argument  ?  Sir,  we  have  been  trying  that  for  the 
last  ten  years.  Have  we  any  thing  new  tc  offer  upon 
the  subject  ?     Nothing.     We  have  held  the  subject  up  io 


PART   11.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  363 

every  light  of  which  it  is  capable ;  but  it  has  been  all  in 
vain. 

Shall  we  resort  to  entreaty  and  humble  supplication? 
What  terms  shall  we  find,  which  have  not  been  already  ex- 
5  hausted?  Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  deceive  ourselves 
longer.  Sir,  we  have  done  everything  that  could  be  done, 
to  avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  peti- 
tioned ;  we  have  remonstrated  ;  we  have  supplicated  ;  we 
have  prostrated  ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  im- 

10  plored  its  interposition  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the 
ministry  and  parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been  slight- 
ed; our  remonstrances  have  produced  additional  violence 
and  insult ;  our  supplications  have  been  disregarded  ;  and 
we  have  been  spurned,  with  contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the 

15  throne ! 

In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond 
hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no  longer  any 
room  for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free, — if  we  mean  lo 
preserve  inviolate  those  inestimable  privileges,  for  w'aich 

20  we  have  been  so  long  contending, — if  we  mean  not  basely 
to  abandon  the  noble  struggle,  in  which  we  have  been  so 
long  engaged,  and  which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never 
to  abandon,  until  the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be 
obtained, — we  must  fight !     I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight ! 

25  An  appeal  to  arms,  and  to  the  God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is 
left  us ! 

They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak ;  unable  to  cope 
with  so  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be 
stronger  ?     Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year  ? 

30  Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a 
British  guard  shall  be  stationed  in  every  house  ?  Shall 
we  gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction  ?  Shall 
we  acquire  the  means  of  effectual  resistance,  by  lying  su- 
pinely on  our  backs,  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom 

35  of  hope,  until  our  enemies  sball  have  bound  us  hand  and 
foot?  Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of 
those  means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our 
power. 

Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of 

40  liberty,  and  in  such  a  country  as  that  which  we  possess, 
are  invincible  by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can  send 
against  us.  Besides,  sir,  we  shall  not  fight  our  battles 
alone.  There  is  a  just  God  who  presides  over  the  desti- 
nies of  nations ;  and  who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our 


364  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCnOOL  >ART  n, 

battles  for  us.  The  battle,  sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone ; 
it  is  to  the  vigilant,  the  active,  the  brave.  Besides,  sir, 
we  have  no  election.  If  we  were  base  enough  to  desire 
it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire  from  the  contest.  There 
5  is  no  retreat,  but  in  submission  and  slavery !  Our  chains 
are  forged !  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the  plains 
of  Boston  !  The  war  is  inevitable, — and  let  it  come  !  I 
repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come ! 

It  is  in  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.     Gentlemen 

10  may  cry,  peace,  peace, — but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war 
is  actually  begun  !  The  next  gale,  that  sweeps  from  the 
north,  will  bring  to  our  ears  the  plash  of  resounding  arms ! 
Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field !  Why  stand  we 
here    idle  ?     What   is    it   that   gentlemen   wish  ?     What 

15  would  they  have  ?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to 
be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid 
it.  Almighty  God !  I  know  not  what  course  others  may 
take ;  but  as  for  me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death ! 


LESSON    CXCVII. DUTIES   OF    AMERICAN   CITIZENS. LEVI 

WOODBURY. 

It  behooves  us  to  look  our  perils  and  difficulties,  such  as 
they  are,  in  the  face.  Then,  with  the  exercise  of  candor, 
calmness,  and  fortitude,  being  able  to  comprehend  fully 
their  character  and  extent,  let  us  profit  by  the  teachings  of 
6  almost  every  page  in  our  annals,  that  any  defects,  under 
our  existing  system,  have  resulted  more  from  the  manner 
of  administering  it,  than  from  its  substance  or  form. 

We  less  need  new  laws,  new  institutions,  or  new  pow- 
ers, than  we  need,  on  all  occasions,  at  all  times,  and  in 

10  all  places,  the  requisite  intelligence  concerning  the  true 
spirit  of  our  present  ones ;  the  high  moral  courage,  under 
ejrery  hazard,  and  against  every  offender,  to  execute  with 
fidelity  the  authority  already  possessed  ;  and  the  manly 
independence  to  abandon  all  supineness,  irresolution,  vacil- 

15  lation,  and  time-serving  pusillanimity,  and  enforce  our  pres- 
ent mild  system  with  that  uniformity  and  steady  vigoi 
throughout,  which  alone  can  supply  the  place  of  the  greater 
severity  of  less  free  institutions. 

To  arm  and  encourage  us  in  renewed  efforts  to  accom- 

*J0  plish  every  thing  on  this  subject  which  is  desirable,  our 
history  constantly  points  her  finger  to  a  most  efficient  re- 
source, and  indeed  to  the  only  elixir,  to  secure  a  long  life 


fAlT    n.]  HEADER    AND    SPEAKER.  365 

to  any  popular  government,  in  increased  attention  to  use- 
ful education  and  sound  morals,  with  the  wise  description 
of  equal  measures  and  just  practices  they  inculcate  or. 
every  leaf  of  recorded  time.  Before  their  alliance,  the 
6  spirit  of  misrule  will  always,  in  time,  stand  rebuked,  and 
those  who  worship  at  the  shrine  of  unhallowed  ambition, 
must  quail. 

Storms,  in  the  political  atmosphere,  may  occasionally 
happen  by  the  encroachments  of  usurpers,  the  corruption 

10  or  intrigues  of  demagogues,  or  in  the  expiring  agonies  of 
faction,  or  by  the  sudden  fury  of  popular  frenzy ;  but,  with 
the  restraints  and  salutary  influences  of  the  allies  before 
described,  these  storms  will  purify  as  healthfully  as  they 
often  do  in  the  physical  world,  and  cause  the  tree  of  lib- 

15  erty,  instead  of  falling,  to  strike  its  roots  deeper.  In  this 
struggle,  the  enlightened  and  moral  possess  also  a  power, 
auxiliary  and  strong,  in  the  spirit  of  the  age,  which  is  not 
only  with  them,  but  onward,  in  every  thing  to  ameliorate 
or  improve. 

20  When  the  struggle  assumes  the  form  of  a  contest  with 
power,  in  all  its  subtlety,  or  with  undermining  and  cor- 
rupting wealth,  as  it  sometimes  may,  rather  than  with 
turbulence,  sedition,  or  open  aggression  by  the  needy  and 
desperate,  it  will  be  indispensable  to  employ  still  greater 

25  diligence ;  to  cherish  earnestness  of  purpose,  resoluteness 
in  conduct ;  to  apply  hard  and  constant  blows  to  real 
abuses,  rather  than  milk-and-water  remedies,  and  encour- 
age not  only  bold,  free,  and  original  thinking,  but  deter- 
mined action. 

30  In  such  a  cause,  our  fathers  were  men  whose  hearts 
were  not  accustomed  to  fail  them,  through  fear,  however 
formidable  the  obstacles.  Some  of  them  were  companions 
of  Cromwell,  and  imbued  deeply  with  his  spirit  and  iron 
decision  of  character,  in  whatever  they  deemed  right:  "If 

35  Pope,  and  Spaniard,  and  devil,  (said  he,)  all  set  themselves 
against  us,  though  they  should  compass  us  about  as  bees, 
as  it  is  in  the  18th  Psalm,  yet  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  we 
will  destroy  them."  We  are  not,  it  is  trusted,  such  degen- 
erate descendants,  as  to  prove  recreant,  and  fail  to  defend, 

40  with  gallantry  and  firmness  as  unflinching,  all  which  we 
have  either  derived  from  them,  or  since  added  to  the  rich 
inheritance. 

At  such  a  crisis,  therefore,  and  in  such  a  cause,  yielding 
o  neither  consternation  nor  despair,  may  we  not  all  profit 
31* 


3G6  AMBKICAN   COMMOlf -SCI  OOL  [PART  U. 

by  the  vehement  cxhorlalions  of  Cicero  to  Atticus :  "  If 
you^are  asleep,  awake  ;  if  you  are  standing:,  move  ;  if  you 
are  moving,  run;  if  you  are  running,  fly?" 

All  these  considerations  warn  us, — the  grave-stones  of 
6  almost  every  former  republic  warn  us, — that  a  high  stand- 
ard of  moral  rectitude,  as  well  as  of  intelligence,  is  quite  as 
indispensable  to  communities,  in  their  public  doings,  as  to 
individuals,  if  they  would  escape  from  either  degenera:y 
or  disgrace. 


Sir, — we  are  apt  to  treat  the  idea  of  our  own  corrupti- 
bility, as  utterly  visionary,  and  to  ask,  with  a  grave  afl'ecta- 
tion  of  dignity, — what !  do  you  think  a  member  of  congress 
can  be  corrupted  ?  Sir,  I  speak  what  I  have  long  and  de- 
6  liberately  considered,  when  I  say,  that  since  man  was  cre- 
ated, there  never  has  been  a  political  body  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  that  would  not  be  corrupted  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. Corruption  steals  upon  us,  in  a  thousand 
insidious  forms,  when  we  are  least  aware  of  its  approaches, 

10  Of  all  the  forms  in  which  it  can  present  itself,  the  bribery 
of  office  is  the  most  dangerous,  because  it  assumes  the 
g^ise  of  patriotism  to  accomplish  its  fatal  sorcery.  We 
are  often  asked,  where  is  the  evidence  of  corruption? 
Have  you  seen  it  ?     Sir,  do  you  expect  to  see  it  ?     You 

15  might  as  well  expect  to  see  the  embodied  forms  of  pesti- 
lence and  famine  ■  stalking  before  you,  as  to  see  the  laten 
operations  of  this  insidious  power.     We  may  walk  amidst 
it,  and  breathe  its  contagion,  without  being  conscious  of 
its  presence.     All  experience  teaches  us  the  irresistible 

20  power  of  temptation,  when  vice  assumes  the  form  of  virtue. 
The  great  enemy  of  mankind  could  not  have  consum- 
mated his  infernal  scheme  for  the  seduction  of  our  first  pa; 
rents,  but  for  the  disguise  in  which  he  presented  himselt 
Had  he  appeared,  as  the  devil,  in  his  proper  form  ;  had  the 

25  spear  of  Iihuriel  disclosed  the  naked  deformity  of  the  fiend 
of  hell,  the  inhabitants  of  Paradise  would  have  shrunk,  with 
horror,  from  his  presence.  But  he  came,  as  the  insinuat- 
ing serpent,  and  presented  a  beautiful  apple,  the  most  de- 
licious fruit  in  all  the  garden.     He  told  nis  glowing  story 

30  to  the  unsuspecting  victim  of  his  guile.  "  It  can  be  no 
crime  to  taste  of  this  /delightful  fruit.  It  will  disclose  to 
you  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  It  will  raise  you  to 
an  equality  with  the  angels."    Such,  sir,  was  the  process 

i. 


fART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  367 

and,  in  this  simple  but  impressive  narrative,  we  have  the 
most  beautiful  and  philosophical  illustration  of  the  frailty 
of  man,  and  the  power  of  temptation,  that  could  possibly 
be  exhibited. 
6  Mr.  Chairman,  I  have  been  forcibly  struck  with  the  simi- 
larity between  our  present  situation  and  that  of  Eve,  after 
it  was  announced  that  Satan  was  on  the  borders  of  Para- 
dise. We,  too,  have  been  warned  that  the  enemy  is  on  our 
borders.    But  God  forbid  that  the  similitude  should  be  car- 

10  ried  any  farther.    Eve,  conscious  of  her  innocence,  sought 

temptation,  and  defied  it.     The  catastrophe  is  too  fatally 

.  known  to  us  all.    She  went,  *' with  the  blessings  of  Heaven 

on  her  head,  and  its  purity  in  her  heart,"  guarded  by  the 

ministry  of  angels, — she  returned,  covered  with  shame,  un- 

15  der  ♦he  heavy  denunciation  of  Heaven's  everlasting  curse. 

Sir,  it  is  innocence  that  temptation  conquers.     If  our 

first  parent,  pure  as  she  came  from  the  hand  of  God,  was 

overcome  by  the  seductive  power,  let  us  not  imitate  her 

fatal  rashness,  seeking  temptation,  when  it  is  in  our  power 

20  to  avoid  it.  Let  us  not  vainly  confide  in  our  own  infalli- 
bility. We  are  liable  to  be  corrupted.  To  an  ambitious 
man,  an  honorable  ofiice  will  appear  as  beautiful  and  fas- 
cinating, as  the  apple  of  Paradise. 

I  admit,  sir,  that  ambition  is  a  passion,  at  once  the  most 

25  powerful  and  the  most  useful.  Without  it,  human  affairs 
would  become  a  mere  stagnant  pool.  By  means  of  his 
patronage,  the  president  addresses  himself,  in  the  most  irre- 
sistible manner;  to  this,  the  noblest  and  strongest  of  our 
passions.      All  that  the  imagination  can  desire, — honor, 

30  power,  wealth,  ease, — are  held  oat,  as  the  temptation.  Man 
was  not  made  to  resist  such  temptations.  It  is  impossible 
to  conceive, — Satan  himself  could  not  devise, — a  system 
which  would  more  infallibly  introduce  corruption  and  death, 
into  our  political  Eden.     Sir,  the  angels  fell  from  heaven, 

35  with  less  temptation. 

LESSON    CXCIX. — INTELLIGENCE    NECESSARY    TO    PERPETUATE 
INDEPENDENCE. DAWES. 

That  education  is  one  of  the  deepest  principles  of  inde- 
pendence, need  not  be  labored  in  this  assembly.  In  arbi- 
trary governments,  where  the  people  neither  make  the  law, 
nor  choose  those  who  legislate,  the  more  ignorance,  the 
5  more  peace.  But  in  a  government,  where  the  people  fill 
all  the  branches  of  the  sovereignty,  intelligence  is  the  life 


368  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U. 

of  liberty.  An  American  would  resent  his  being  deniecl 
the  use  of  his  musket;  but  he  would  deprive  himself  of  a 
stronger  safeguard,  if  he  should  want  that  learning  which 
is  necessary  to  a  knowledge  of  the  constitution.  It  is  easy 
6  to  see,  that  our  Agrarian  law,  and  the  law  of  education, 
were  calculated  to  make  republicans,  to  make  men.  Ser- 
vitude could  never  long  consist  with  the  habits  of  such 
citizens.  Enlightened  minds,  and  virtuous  manners,  lead 
to  the  gates  of  glory. 

10       The  sentiment  of  independence  must  have  been  connat 
ural  in  tfte  bosoms  of  Americans ;  and,  sooner  or  later,  must 
have  blazed  out,  into  public  action.     Independence  fits  the 
soul  of  her  residence,  for  every  noble  enterprise  of  humanity 
and  greatness.    Her  radiant  smile  lights  up  celestial  ardor 

15  in  poets  and  orators,  who  sound  her  praises  through  all 
ages ;  in  legislators  and  philosophers,  who  fabricate  wise 
and  happy  governments,  as  dedications  to  her  fame ;  in 
patriots  and  heroes,  who  shed  their  lives  in  sacrifice  to  her 
divinity.     At  this  idea,  do  not  our  minds  swell  with  the 

20  memory  of  those,  whose  godlike  virtues  have  founded  her 
most  magnificent  temple  in  America  ?  It  is  easy  for  us  to 
maintain  her  doctrines,  at  this  late  day,  when  there  is  but 
one  party,  on  the  subject,  an  immense  people. 

But  what  tribute  shall  we  bestow,  what  sacred  paean 

25  shall  we  raise  over  the  tombs  of  those  who  dared,  in  the 
face  of  unrivalled  power,  and  within  the  reach  of  majesty, 
to  blow  the  blast  of  freedom  throughout  a  subject  conti- 
nent ?  Nor  did  those  brave  countrymen  of  ours  only  ex- 
press the  emotions  of  glory ;  the  nature  of  their  principles 

30  inspired  them  with  the  power  of  practice,  and  they  oflx*red 
their  bosoms  to  the  shafts  of  battle.  Bunker's  awful  mount 
is  the  capacious  urn  of  their  ashes  ;  but  the  flaming  bounds 
of  the  universe  could  not  limit  the  flight  of  their  minds. 
They  fled  to  the  union  of  kindred  souls;  and  those  who 

35  fell  at  the  strait  of  Thermopylae,  and  those  who  bled  on  the 
heights  of  Charlestown,  now  reap  congenial  joys,  in  the 
fields  of  the  blessed.         

LESSON  CC. — SOUTH  AMERICAN  REPUBLICS. — DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  overrate, — I  do  not  overrate, — the 
progress  of  these  new  states  in  the  great  work  of  establish- 
ing a  well-secured  popular  liberty.  I  know  that  to  be  a 
great  attainment,  and  1  know  they  are  but  pupils  in  the 
5  school.  But,  thank  God,  they  arc  in  the  school.  They 
are  called  to  meet  difliculties,  such  as  neither  we  nor  our 


?ART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER,  369 

fathers  encountered.  For  these  we  ought  to  make  large 
allowances.  What  have  we  ever  known,  like  the  colonial 
vassalage  of  these  states  ?  When  did  we  or  our  ancestors 
feel,  like  them,  the  weight  of  a  political  despotism  that 
5  presses  men  to  the  earth,  or  of  that  religious  intolerance 
which  would  shut  up  heaven  to  all  but  the  bigoted  ?  Sir, 
we  sprung  from  another  stock.  We  belong  to  another 
race.  We  have  known  nothing, — we  have  felt  nothing, — 
of  the  political  despotism  of  Spain,  nor  of  the  heat  of  her 

10  fires  of  intolerance. 

No  rational  man  expects  that  the  south  can  run  the  same 
rapid  career  as  the  north ;  or  that  an  insurgent  province  of 
Spain  is  in  the  same  condition  as  the  English  colonies, 
when  they  first  asserted  their  independence.     There  is, 

15  doubtless,  much  more  to  be  done  in  the  first,  than  in  the 
last  case.  But,  on  that  account,  the  honor  of  the  attempt 
is  not  less ;  and  if  all  difficulties  shall  be  in  time  sur- 
mounted, it  will  be  greater.  The  work  may  be  more  ar- 
duous ;  it  is  not  less  noble,  because  there  may  be  more  of 

20  ignorance  to  enlighten, — more  of  bigotry  to  subdue, — more 
of  prejudice  to  eradicate. 

If  it  be  a  weakness  to  feel  a  strong  interest  in  the  suc- 
cess of  these  great  revolutions,  I  confess  myself  guilty  of 
that  weakness.     If  it  be  weak,  to  feel  that  I  am  an  Ameri- 

25  can,  to  think  that  recent  events  have  not  only  opened  new 
modes  of  intercourse,  but  have  created  also  new  grounds 
of  regard  and  sympathy  between  ourselves  and  our  neigh- 
bors ;  if  it  be  weak  to  feel  that  the  south,  in  her  present 
state,  is  somewhat  more  emphatically  a  part  of  America, 

30  than  when  she  lay  obscure,  oppressed  and  unknown,  under 
the  grinding  bondage  of  a  foreign  power ;  if  it  be  weak  to 
rejoice,  when,  even  in  any  corner  of  the  earth,  human  be- 
ings are  able  to  get  up  from  beneath  oppression,  to  erect 
themselves,  and  to  enjoy  the  proper  happiness  of  their  in- 

35  telligent  nature  ; — if  this  be  weak,  it  is  a  weakness  from 
which  I  claim  no  exemption. 

A  day  of  solemn  retribution  now  visits  the  once  proud 
monarchy  of  Spain.  The  prediction  is  fulfilled.  The 
spirit  of  Montezuma,  and  of  the  Incas,  might  now  we»  I  say, 

40  "Art  thou,  too,  fallen,  Iberia?     Do  we  see 

The  robber  and  the  murderer  weak  as  we  ? 

Thou !  that  hast  wasted  earth,  and  dared  despise 

Alike  the  wrath  and  mercy  of  the  skies, — 

Thy  pomp  is  in  the  grave ;  thy  gloiy  iTiid 
45  Low  in  the  pit  thine  avarice  has  made  " 


370                                  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  n, 

LESSON  CCI. EXCELLENCE  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.- 

Beattie. 
Is  it  bigotry  to  believe  the  sublime  truths  of  the  ospel 
with  full  assurance  of  faith  ?  I  glory  in  such  bigotry, 
would  not  part  with  it  for  a  thousand  worlds.  I  congratu- 
late the  man  who  is  possessed  of  it:  for,  amidst  all  the 
5  vicissitudes  and  calamities  of  the  present  state,  that  man 
enjoys  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  consolation,  of  which  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  fortune  to  deprive  him. 

There  is  not  a  book  on  earth,  so  favorable  to  all  the  kind, 
and  all  the  sublime  affections ;  or  so  unfriendly  to  hatred 

10  and  persecution,  to  tyranny,  to  injustice,  and  every  sort  of 
malevolence,  as  the  Gospel.  It  breathes  nothing  through- 
out, but  mercy,  benevolence,  and  peace. 

Poetry  is  sublime,  when  it  awakens  in  the  mind  any 
great  and  gooj    iffection,  as  piety  or  patriotism.     This  is 

15  one  of  the  noblest  effects  of  the  art.  The  Psalms  are  re- 
markable, beyond  all  other  writings,  for  their  power  of 
inspiring  devout  emotions.  But  it  is  not  in  this  respect 
only,  that  they  are  sublime.  Of  the  divine  nature,  they 
contain  the  most  magnificent  descriptions,  that  the  soul  of 

20  man  can  comprehend.  The  hundred  and  fourth  Psalm,  in 
particular,  displays  the  power  and  goodness  of  Providence, 
in  creating  and  preserving  the  world,  and  the  various  tribes 
of  animals  in  it,  with  such  majestic  brevity  and  beauty,  as 
it  is  vain  to  look  for  in  any  human  composition. 

25  Such  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Gospel,  as  are  level  to  hu- 
man capacity,  appear  to  be  agreeable  to  the  purest  truth, 
and  the  soundest  morality.  All  the  genius  and  learning 
of  the  heathen  world,  all  the  penetration  of  Pythagoras, 
Socrates,  and  Aristotle,  had  never  been  able  to  produce 

30  such  a  system  of  moral  duty,  and  so  rational  an  account 
of  Providence  and  of  man,  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  New 
Testament.  Compared,  indeed,  with  this,  all  other  moral 
and  theological  wisdom 

Loses,  discountenanced,  and  like  folly  shows. 


LESSON  con. SPEECH  OF  MR.  GRIFFIN  AGAINST  CHEETHAM. 

1  am  one  of  those  who  believe,  that  the  heart  of  the  wil- 
ful and  the  deliberate  libeller,  is  blacker  than  that  of  the 
highway  robber,  or  of  one  who  commits  the  crime  of  mid- 
night arson     The  man  who  plunders  on  the  highway,  may 
5  have  the  semblance  of  an  apology  for  what  he  does.     Ap 


PART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  371 

affectionate  Avife  may  demand  subsistence ;  a  circle  of 
helpless  children  raise  to  him  the  supplicating  hand  for 
food.  He  may  be  driven  to  the  desperate  act,  by  the  high 
mandate  of  imperative  necessity.  The  mild  features  of 
5  the  husband  and  the  father,  may  intermingle  with  those  of 
the  robber,  and  soften  the  roughness  of  the  shade.  Bui 
the  robber  of  chaiacter  plunders  that  which  '*not  enricheth 
him,"  though  it  makes  his  neighbor  "  poor  indeed." 

The  man  who,  at  the  midnight  hour,  consumes  his  neigh- 

10  bor*s  dwelling,  does  him  an  injury  w^hich  perhaps  is  not 
irreparable.  Industry  may  rear  another  habitation.  The 
storm  may  indeed  descend  upon  him,  until  charity  opens  a 
neighboring  door :  the  rude  winds  of  heaven  may  whistle 
around  his  uncovered  family.     But  he  looks  forward  to 

15  better  days ;  he  has  yet  a  hook  to  hang  a  hope  on. 

No  such  consolation  cheers  the  heart  of  him  whose  char- 
acter has  been  torn  from  him.  If  innocent,  he  may  look, 
like  Anaxagoras,  to  the  heavens  ;  but  he  must  be  constrained 
to  feel,  that  this  world  is  to  him  a  wilderness.    For  whith- 

20  er  shall  he  go  ?  Shall  he  dedicate  himself  to  the  service 
of  his  country  ?  But  will  his  country  receive  him  ?  Will 
she  employ  in  her  councils,  or  in  her  armies,  the  man  at 
whom  the  "slow,  unmoving  finger  of  scorn"  is  pointed? 
Shall  he  betake  himself  to  the  fire-side  ?    The  story  of  his 

25  disgrace  will  enter  his  own  doors  before  him.  And  can  he 
bear,  think  you,  can  he  bear  the  sympathizing  agonies  of 
a  distressed  wife  ?  Can  he  endure  the  formidable  presence 
of  scrutinizing,  sneering  domestics  ?  Will  his  childrea 
receive  instruction  from  the  lips  of  a  disgraced  father  ? 

30  Gentlemen,  I  am  not  ranging  on  fairy  ground.  I  am 
telling  the  plain  story  of  my  client's  wrongs.  By  the 
ruthless  hand  of  malice,  his  character  has  been  wantonly 
massacred ; — and  he  now  appears  before  a  jury  of  his 
country  for  redress.     Will   you  deny  him  this  redress  ? 

35  — Is  character  valuable?  On  this  point  I  will  not  insult 
you  with  argument.  There  are  certain  things,  to  argue 
which  is  treason  against  nature.  The,  Author  of  our  be- 
ing did  not  intend  to  leave  this  point  afloat  at  the  mercy  of 
opinion  ;  but,  with  his  own  hand,  has  he  kindly  planted  in 

40  the  soul  of  man  an  instinctive  love  of  character. 

This  high  sentiment  has  no  afHnity  to  pride.  It  is  the 
ennobling  quality  of  the  soul :  and  if  we  have  hitherto  been 
elevated  above  the  rajiks  of  surroundinsf  creation,  human 
nature  owes  its  elevation  to  the  love  of  character.     It  is  tha 


372  ABtERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

lave  of  character  for  which  the  poet  has  sung,  the  philoso* 
pher  toiled,  the  hero  bled.  It  is  the  love  of  character 
which  wrought  miracles  at  ancient  Greece ;  the  love  oj 
character  is  the  eagle  on  which  Rome  rose  to  empire. 
6  And  it  is  the  love  of  character  animating  the  bosom  of  her 
sons,  on  which  America  must  depend  in  those  approaching 
crises  that  may  "  try  men's  souls."  Will  a  jury  weaken 
this  our  nation's  hope?  Will  they  by  their  verdict  pro- 
nounce to  the  youth  of  our  country,  that  character  is  scarce 

10  worth  possessing? 

We  read  of  that  philosophy  which  can  smile  over  the 
destruction  of  property, — of  that  religion  which  enables  its 
possessor  to  extend  the  benign  look  of  forgiveness  and  com- 
placency, to  his  murderers.     But  it  is  not  in  the  soul  of 

15  man  to  bear  the  laceration  of  slander.     The  philosophy 
which  could  bear   it,  we   should   despise.     The   religion 
which  could  bear  it,  we  should  not  despise, — but  we  should 
be  constrained  to  say,  that  its  kingdom  was  not  of  this^ 
world. 


LESSON  CCIII. SIR    ANTUONY    ABSOLUTE    AND    CAPTAIN    ABSO- 
LUTE.— Sheridan, 

Capt.  A,  Sir  Anthony,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here, 
and  looking  so  well !  Your  sudden  arrival  at  Bath  made 
me  apprehensive  for  your  health. 

Sir  A.    Very  apprehensive,  I  dare  say.  Jack.     What, 
5  you  are  recruiting  here,  hey  ? 

Capt.  A.    Yes,  sir,  1  am  on  duty. 

Sir  A,    Well,  Jack,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though  I  did    i 
not  expect  it ;  for  I  was  going  to  write  to  you  on  a  little  I 
matter  of  business.     Jack,  I  have  been  considering  that  I  " 
10  grow  old  and  infirm,  and  shall  probably  not  be  with  you 
long. 

Capt.  A.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  never  saw  you  look  mor^ 
strong  and  hearty;  and  I  pray  fervently  that  you  may 
continue  so. 
d5  Sir  A.  I  hope  your  prayers  may  be  heard,  with  all  my 
heart.  Well  tnen,  Jactc,  I  have  lieen  considering  that  1 
am  80  strong  and  hearty,  I  may  contiime  to  plague  you  a 
long  time.  Now,  Jack,  I  am  sensible  that  the  income 
of  your  commission,  and  what  I  have  hitherto  allowed 
20  you,  18  but  a  small  pittance  for  a  lad  of  your  spirit. 

Capt.  A.    Sir,  you  are  very  good. 


I 


PART   II. J  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  373 

Sir  A,  And  it  is  my  wish,  while  yet  I  live,  to  have 
my  boy  make  some  figure  in  the  world.  I  have  re- 
solved, therefore,  to  fix  you  at  once  in  a  noble  indepen- 
dence. 
5  Capt.  A.  Sir,  your  kindness  overpowers  me.  Yet,  sir, 
I  presume  you  would  not  wish  me  to  quit  the  army? 

Sir  A.    Oh  !  that  shall  be  as  your  wife  chooses. 

Capt,  A.    My  wife,  sir  ! 

Sir  A.    Ay,  ay,  settle  that  between  you ;   settle   that 
10  between  you. 

Capt.  A,    A  wife,  sir,  did  you  say? 

Sir  A.   Ay,  a  wife  :  why,  did  not  I  mention  her  before? 

Capt,  A,    Not  a  word  of  her,  sir. 

Sir  A.    Yes,  Jack,  the  independence  I  was  talking  of 
15  is  by  a  marriage  ;  the  fortune  is  saddled  with  a  wife;  but 
I  suppose  that  makes  no  difference? 

Capt,  A,    Sir,  sir,  you  amaze  me ! 

Sir  A,  What 's  the  matter  with  the  fool  ? — just  now  you 
were  all  gratitude  and  duty. 
20       Capt.  A,  I  was,  sir ;  you  talked  to  me  of  independence 
and  a  fortune,  but  not  one  word  of  a  wife. 

Sir  A,    Why,  what  difference  does   that  make?     Sir, 
if  you  have  the  estate,  you  must  take  it  with  the  live 
stock  on  it,  as  it  stands. 
25       Capt,  A.    Pray,  sir,  who  is  the  lady  ? 

Sir  A.    What 's  that  to  you,  sir  ?    Come,  give  me  your 
promise  to  love,  and  to  marry  her  directly. 

Capt.  A.    Sure,  sir,  that 's  not  very  reasonable,  to  sum- 
mon my  affections  for  a  lady  I  know  nothing  of! 
30       Sir  A.    I  am  sure,  sir,  't  is  more  unreasonable  in  you, 
to  object  to  a  lady  you  know  nothing  of, — 

Capt,  A,    You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  tell  you,  once 
for  all,  that  in  this  point  I  can  not  obey  you. 

Sir  A.    Hark  ye.  Jack  ;    I  have   heard  you   for  some 

35  time  with  patience, — I  have  been  cool, — quite  cool :  but 

take  care  ;  you  know  I  am  compliance  itself,  when  I  am 

not  thwarted ;  no  one  more  easily  led,  when  I  have  my 

own  way  ;  but  don't  put  me  in  a  frenzy. 

Capt,  A.    Sir,  I  must  repeat  it ;  in  this  I  can  not  obey 
40  you. 

Sir  A,    Now,  hang  me,  if  ever  I  call  you  Jack  again, 
while  I  live ! 

Capt.  A,    Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me. 

Sir  A.    Sir,  I  won't  hear  a  word,  not  a  word !  not  one 
32 


374  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   n. 

word !     So  give  me  your  promise  by  a  nod,  and  I  *ll  telJ 
you  what,  Jack, — I  mean  you  dog, — if  you  don'i  by 

Capt.  A,    What,  sir,  promise  to  link  myself  to  some 

mass  of  ugliness ;  to 

5  Sir  A,  Zounds  !  sirrah  !  the  lady  shall  be  as  ugly  as  I 
choose  :  she  shall  have  a  hump  on  each  shoulder ;  she 
shall  be  as  crooked  as  the  crescent ;  her  one  eye  shall  ndl 
like  the  bull's  in  Cox's  museum;  she  shall  have  a  skin 
like  a  mummy,  and  the  beard  of  a  Jew.  She  shall  be  all 
10  this,  sirrah !  Yes,  I  '11  make  you  ogle  her  all  day,  and 
sit  up  all  night  to  write  sonnets  on  her  beauty. 

Capt.  A,    This  is  reason  and  moderation,  indeed  I 

Sir  A.    None  of  your  sneering,  puppy !  no  grinning, 
jackanapes ! 
15       Capt.  A,    Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor 
for  mirth  in  my  life. 

Sir  A.    'T  is  false,  sir ;    I  know  you  are  laughing  in 
your  sleeve ;  I  know  you  '11  grin  when  I  am  gone,  sir- 
rah! 
20       Capt,  A.    Sir,  I  hope  I  know  my  duty  better. 

Sir  A,  None  of  your  passion,  sir !  none  of  your  vio- 
lence, if  you  please  ;  it  won't  do  with  me,  I  promise 
you. 

Capt.  A.    Indeed,  sir,  I  \vas  never  cooler  in  my  life. 
25       Sir  A.    'T  is  a  confounded  lie  !     I  know  you  are  in  a 
passion  in  your  heart;  I  know  you  are  a  hypocritical 
young  dog ;  but  it  wont  do. 

Capt.  A.    Nay,  sir,  upon  my  word, — 

Sir  A.  So  you  will  fly  out !  Can't  you  be  cool,  like 
30  me?  What  good  can  passion  do?  Passion  is  of  no  service, 
you  impudent,  insolent,  overbearing  reprobate !  There, 
you  sneer  again  !  Don't  provoke  me  !  But  you  rely  upon 
the  mildness  of  my  temper,  you  do,  you  dog !  You  play 
upon  the  meekness  of  my  disposition  !  Yet  take  care ; 
35  the  patience  of  a  saint  may  be  overcome  at  last !  But 
mark !  I  give  you  six  hours  and  a  half  to  consider  of 
this  ;  if  you  then  acfree,  without  any  condition,  to  do 
every  thing  on  earth  that  I  choose,  why,  confound  you  !  I 
may  in  time  forgive  you.  If  not,  don't  enter  the  same 
40  hemisphere  with  me  !  don't  dare  to  breathe  the  same  air. 
or  use  the  same  light  with  me  ;  but  get  an  atmosphere 
and  a  nun  of  your  own  :  I  '11  strip  you  of  your  commis- 
sion :  I  '11  lodge  a  five-and-three-pence  in  the  hands  of 
trustees,  and  you  shall  live  on  the  interest.     I  '11  disown 


I 


( 


FA?  '    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  375 

/ou  ;  I  *1I  disinherit  you  ;  and  hang  me,  if  ever  I  call  you 
Jack  again  !  [Exit, 

Capt.  A.    Mild,  gentle,  considerate  father,  I  kiss  your 
hands.  

LESSON  CCIV. ANTONYMS    ADDRESS    TO    THE    ROMAN   POPU- 
LACE . —  Shakspeare, 
Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears  : 

I  come  to  bury  CjEsar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil,  that  men  do,  lives  after  them  ; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  : 
5     So  let  it  be  with  Csesar  !     The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious. 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault : — 

And  grievously  hath  Ca;sar  answered  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 
10     (For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  mail, 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men  ;) 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Ciesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me  : 

But  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 
15     And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  o-eneral  coffers  fill : 

Did  this,  in  Caesar,  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  hath  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept : 
20     Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff. 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown  ; 
25     Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition? 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  sure  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke ; 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 
30     You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause  : 

What  cause  withholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason. — Bear  with  me : 

My  heart  is  in  the  coflin  there  with  Caesar ; 
35     And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 
But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world  :  iTow  lies  he  there^ 


876  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  II 

And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  Masters !     If  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Uassius  wrong, 
5     Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong, — I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here 's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Caesar 
10     I  found  it  in  his  closet :  H  is  his  will. 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament, 

(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,) 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds 

And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood, — 
15     Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 

And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 

Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy, 

Unto  their  issue. 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
20     You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :  I  remember 

The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on ; 

'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening  in  his  lent : 

That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii : — 

Look !  In  this  place,  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  :— 
25     See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made, — 

Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed ; 

And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 

Mark  how  the  blood  of  Ccesar  followed  it  !^ 

This  was  the  most  unkindest'**'  cut  of  all ! 
30     For,  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab. 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors*  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him  !  Then  burst  his  mighty  heart. 

And,  in  his  mantle,  muffling  up  his  face. 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statua,t 
35     Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 

Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  I 

Then  I  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  fell  down  ; 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 

Oh,  now  you  weep ;  and  I  perceive  you  feel 

♦  This  double  superlative,  like  "  the  most  straitest  sect  of  our  reli 
gion,"  (Acts  xxvi.  5,)  was  tolerated  by  the  best  English  writers, 
two  or  three  centuries  ago. 

t  Statua,  for  statue,  is  common  among  the  old  writers. 


PART    II.]  READER    ANI    SPEAKER.  377 

The  dint  of  pity  : — these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls  !     What !  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 
Our  CaBsar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  ye  here ! — 
Here  is  himself, — marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 
5         Good  friends  !  sweet  friends  !   Let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny  ! 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable ! 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not. 
That  made  them  do  it !     They  are  wise  and  honorable, 

10     And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reason  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  ! 
1  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man. 
That  love  my  friend, — and  that  they  know  full  well, 

15     That  gave  me  public  leaVe  to  speak  of  him ! 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood  : — I  only  speak  right  on  : 
I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know,-  - 

20     Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me.     But,  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
-     Would  rufile  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 

25     The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 


LESSON  CCV. THE    VICTOR   ANGELS. MUtOU. 

Now  when  fair  morn  orient  in  Heaven  appeared, 
Up  rose  the  victor  Angels,  and  to  arms 
The  matin  trumpet  sung:  in  arms  they  stood 
Of  golden  panoply,  refulgent  host, 

5  Soon  banded  ;  others  from  the  dawning  hills 

Looked  round,  and  scouts  each  coast  light  armed  scoui 
Each  quarter,  to  descry  the  distant  foe, 
Where  lodged,  or  whither  fled,  or  if  for  fight, 
In  motion  or  in  halt :  him  soon  they  met 

10  Under  spread  ensigns  moving  nigh,  in  slow 
But  firm  battalion  ;  back  with  speediest  sail 
Zophiel,  of  Cherubim  the  swiftest  wing, 
Came  flying,  and  in  mid  air  aloud  thus  cried ; 
*Arm,  Warriors,  arm  for  Jight^-^ihe  foe  at  hand, 

15  Whom  fled  we  thought,  will  save  us  long  pursuit 
This  day ;  fear  not  his  flight :  so  thick  a  cloud 


378  AlVIERICAN    COMMON-SCIIOOI  [PABT   U 

He  comes ;  and  settled  in  his  face  I  see 

Sad  resolution  and  secure  :  let  each 

His  adamantine  coat  gird  well, — and  each 

Fit  well  his  helm, — gripe  fast  his  orbed  shield, 
5  Borne  even  or  high  ;  for  this  day  will  pour  down, 

If  I  conjecture  aught,  no  drizzling  shower, 

But  rattling  storm  of  arrows  barbed  with  fire." 
So  warned  he  them,  aware  themselves,  and  soon 

In  order,  quit  of  ail  impediment; 
10  Instant,  without  disturb,  they  took  alarm, 

And  onward  move,  embattled  :  when  behold ! 

Not  distant  far,  with  heavy  pace  the  foe, 

Approaching,  gross  and  huge,  in  hollow  cube, 

Training  his  devilish  enginery,  impaled 
15  On  every  side  with  shadowing  squadrons  deep, 

To  hide  the  fraud.     At  interview  both  stood 

Awhile  ;  but  suddenly  at  head  appeared 

Satan,  and  thus  was  heard  commanding  loud  ; 
"Vanguard,  to  right  and  left  the  front  unfold ; 
20  That  all  may  see  who  hate  us,  how  we  seek 

Peace  and  composure,  and  with  open  breast 

Stand  ready  to  receive  them,  if  they  like 

Our  overture,  and  turn  not  back  perverse." 


LESSON   CCVI. IMPRESSMENT    OF   AMERICAN    SEAMEN. 

HENRY    CLAY. 

Who  is  prepared  to  say,  that  American  seamen  shall  be 
surrendered,  as  victims,  to  the  British  principle  of  impress- 
ment ?  And,  sir,  what  is  this  principle  ?  She  contends, 
that  she  has  a  right  to  the  services  of  her  own  subjects ; 
5  and  that,  in  the  exercise  of  this  right,  she  may  lawfully 
impress  them,  even  although  she  finds  them  in  American 
vessels,  upon  the  high  seas,  without  her  jurisdiction.  Now 
I  deny  that  she  has  any  right,  beyond  her  jurisdiction,  to 
come  on  board  our  vessels,  upon  the  high  seas,  for  any 

10  other  purpose,  than  in  the  pursuit  of  enemies,  or  their 
goods,  or  goods  contraband  of  war. 

But  she  further  contends,  that  her  subjects  cannot 
renounce  their  allegiance  to  her,  and  contract  a  new  obli- 
gation to  other  sovereigns.     I  do  not  mean  to  go  into  the 

15  general  question  of  the  right  of  expatriation.  If,  as  is 
contended,  all  nations  deny  k,  all  nations,  at  the  same 
time,  admit  and  practice  the  right  of  naturalization.  Great 


PART    II.]  RRADKR    AKE    SPEAKER.  379 

Britain  herself  does  this.     Great  Britain,  in  the  very  case 

of  foreign  seamen,  imposes,  perhaps,  fewer  restraints  upon 
naturalization,  than  any  other  nation.     Then,  if  subjects 
cannot  break  their  original  allegiance,  they  rnHy,  accord- 
5  ing  to  universal  usage,  contract  a  new  allegiance. 

What  is  the  effect  of  this  doable  obligation  ?  Undoubt- 
edly, that  the  sovereign  having  the  possession  of  the 
subject,  would  have  the  right  to  the  services  of  the  sub- 
ject.    If  he  return  within  the  jurisdiction  of  his  primitive 

10  sovereign,  he  may  resume  his  right  to  his  services,  of 
which  the  subject,  by  his  own  act,  could  not  divest  him 
self.     But  his  primitive  sovereign  can  have  no  right  to  go 
in  quest  of  him,  out  of  his  own  jurisdiction,  into  the  juris- 
diction  of  another   sovereign,   or    upon    the   high    seas ; 

15  where  there  exists  no  ju'-isdiction,  or  it  is  possessed  by 
the  nation  owning  the  ship  navigating  them. 

But,  sir,  this  discussion  is  altogether  useless.  It  is  not 
to  the  British  principle,  objectionable  as  it  is,  that  we  are 
alone  to  look  ;  it  is  to  her  practice,  no  matter  what  guise 

20  she  puts  on.  It  is  in  vain  to  assert  the  inviolability  of  the 
obligation  of  allegiance.  It  is  in  vain  to  set  up  the  plea 
of  necessity,  and  to  allege  that  she  cannot  exist  without 
the  impressment  of  her  seamen.  The  naked  truth  is,  she 
comes,  by  her  press-gangs,  on  board  of  our  vessels,  seizes 

25  our  native  as  well  as  naturalized  seamen,  and  drags  them 
into  her  service. 

It  is  the  case,  then,  of  the  assertion  of  an  erroneous 
principle,  and  of  a  practice  not  conformable  to  the  asserted 
principle, — a  principle  which,  if  it  were  theoretically  right, 

30  must  be  forever  practically  wrong, — a  practice  which  can 
obtain  countenance  from  no  principle  whatever,  and  to 
submit  to  which,  on  our  part,  would  betray  the  most  abject 
degradation. 


LESSON   CCVII. "  NEW   ENGLAND,  WHAT  IS   SITE  ? *  DELENDA 

EST   CyVRTHAGO.'" TRISTAM   BURGESS. 

The  policy  of  the  gentleman  from  Virginia,  calls  him  to 
a  course  of  legislation  resulting  in  the  entire  destruction 
of  one  part  of  our  Union.  Oppress  New  England,  until 
she  shall  be  compelled  to  remove  her  manufacturing  labor 
and  capital  to  the  regions  of  iron,  wool,  and  grain,  and 
nearer  to  those  of  rice  and  cotton.  Oppress  New  England, 
until  she  shall  be  compelled  to  remove  her  commercial 


JSO  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   H. 

labor  and  capital  to  New  York,  Norfolk,  Charleston,  and 
Savannah.  Finally,  oppress  that  proscribed  region,  until 
she  shall  be  compelled  to  remove  her  agricultural  labor 
and  cjfpital, — her  agricultural  capital  ?  No,  she  cannot 
5  remove  that.  Oppress  and  compel  her,  nevertheless,  to 
remove  her  agricultural  labor  to  the  far-ofT  West ;  and 
there  people  the  savage  valley,  and  cultivate  the  deep 
wilderness  of  the  Oregon. 

She  must,  indeed,  leave  her  agricultural  capital ;  her 

10  peopled  fields  ;  her  hills  with  culture  carried  to  their  tops ; 
her  broad  deep  bays ;  her  wide  transparent  lakes,  long- 
winding  rivers,  and  populous  waterfalls  ;  her  delightful 
villages,  flourishing  towns,  and  wealthy  cities.  She  must 
leave  this  land,  bought  by  the  treasure,  subdued  by  the 

15  toil,  defended  by  the  valor  of  men,  vigorous,  athletic,  and 
intrepid  ;  men,  god-like  in  all  making  man  resemble  the 
moral  image  of  his  Maker ;  a  land  endeared,  oh  !  how 
deeply  endeared,  because  shared  with  women  pure  as  the 
snows  of  their  native  mountains ;  bright,  lofty,  and  over- 

20  awing,  as  the  clear,  circumambient  heavens  over  theit 
heads  ;  and  yet  lovely  as  the  fresh  opening  bosom  of  their 
own  blushing  and  blooming  June. 

"  Mine  own  romantic  country,"  must  we  leave  thee  ? 
Beautiful  patrimony  of  the  wise  and  good ;  enriched  from 

25  the  economy,  and  ornamented  by  the  labor  and  perseve- 
rance of  two  hundred  years  !  Must  we  leave  thee,  vener- 
able heritage  of  ancient  justice  and  pristine  faith  ?  And, 
God  of  our  fathers !  must  we  leave  thee  to  the  dema- 
gogues who  have  deceived,  and  traitorously  sold  us?    We 

30  must  leave  thee  to  them ;  and  to  the  remnants  of  the 
Penobscots,  the  Pequods,  the  Mohicans,  and  Narragan- 
setts ;  that  they  may  lure  back  the  far-retired  bear,  from 
the  distant  forest,  again  to  inhabit  in  the  young  wilder- 
ness, growing  up  in  our  flourishing  cornfields,  and  rich 

35  meadows ;  and  spreading,  with  briars  and  brambles,  over 
our  most  "pleasant  places." 

All  this  shall  corpe  to  pass,  to  the  intent  that  New 
England  may  again  become  a  lair  for  wild  beasts,  and  a 
hunting-ground    for   savages  ;  the  graves  of  our  parents 

40  be  polluted  ;  and  the  place  made  holy  by  the  first  footsteps 
of  our  pilgrim  forefathers,  become  prohined  by  the  mid- 
night orgies  of  barbarous  incantation.  The  evening  wolf 
shall  again  howl  on  our  hills,  and  the  echo  of  his  yell 
mingle  once  more  with  the  sound  of  our  water-falls.    The 


PART   n.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  381 

sanctuaries  of  God  shall  be  made  desolate.  Where  now 
a  whole  people  congregate  in  thanksgiving  for  the  bene- 
factions of  time,  and  in  humble  supplication  for  the 
mercies  of  eternity,  there  those  very  houses  shall  then  be 
5  left  without  a  tenant.  The  owl,  at  noon-day,  may  roost 
on  the  high  altar  of  devotion,  and  the  ''fox  look  out  rt  the 
window,"  on  the  utter  solitude  of  a  New  England  Sab- 
bath. 

New  England  shall,  indeed,  under  this  proscribing 
nolicy,  be  what  Switzerland  was,  under  that  of  France. 
Sew  England,  which,  like  Switzerland,  is  the  eaglc-nesJ 
of  freedom  ;  New  England,  where,  as  in  Switzerland,  ihe 
cradle  of  jnfant  liberty  *' was  rocked  by  whirlwinds,  in  their 
rage;"  New  England  shall,  as  Switzerland  was,  in  truth, 

^5  be  "the  immolated  victun,  where  nothing  but  the  skin 
remains  unconsumed  by  the  sacrifice  ;"  New  England,  as 
Switzerland  had,  shall  have  "nothing  left  but  her  rocks, 
her  ruins,  and  her  demagogues." 

The  mind,  sir,  capable  of  conceiving  a  project  of  mis 

20  chief  so  gigantic,  urns*  have  been  early  schooled,  and 
deeply  imbued  with  ail  the  ^reat  principles  of  moral 
evil. 

What,  then,  sir,  shall  we  say  of  a  spirit,  regarding  this 
event  as  a  "consummation   devoutly  to  be  wished?'* — a 

25  sj)irit,  without  one  attribute,  or  one  hope,  of  the  pure  in 
heart ;  a  spirit,  which  begins  and  ends  every  thing,  not 
with  prayer,  but  with  imprecation  ;  a  spirit,  which  blots 
from  the  great  canon  of  petition,  "Give  us  this  day  our 
daily  bread  ;"  that,  foregoing  bodily   nutriment,  he   may 

30  attain  to  a  higher  relish  for  that  unmingled  food,  prepared 
and  served   up  to  a  soul  "hungering  and  thirsting  after 
wickedness  ;"  a  spirit,  which,  at  every  rising  sun,  exclaims 
^'Hodie  I  hodie  I  Carthago  deleiida  .'"  "To-day,  to-day  !  le 
New  England  be  destroyed  !'* 


LESSON    CCVIII. PARTY    SPIRIT. WILLIAM   GASTO:?. 

Threats  of  resistance,  secession,  separation, — have  be- 
come common  as  household  words,  in  the  wicked  and 
silly  violence  of  public  declaimers.  The  public  ear  is 
familiarized,  and  the  public  mind  will  soon  be  accustomed, 
to  the  detestable  suggestions  of  Disunion  !  Calculations 
apd  conjectures,  What  may  the  East  do  without  the  South. 


3S2  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  11. 

and  what  mny  the  South  do  without  the  East  ? — sneers, 
menaces,  reproaches,  and  recriminations,  all  tend  to  the 
same  fatal  end !  What  can  the  East  do  without  the 
South  ?  What  can  the  South  do  without  the  East  ? 
6  If  it  must  be  so,  let  parties  and  party  men  continue  to 
quarrel  with  little  or  no  regard  to  tlie  public  good.  They 
may  mystify  themselves  and  others  with  disputations  on 
political  economy,  proving  the  most  opposite  doctrines  to 
their  own  satisfaction,  and  perhaps,  to  the  conviction  of  no 

10  one  else  on   earth.     They   may   deserve   reprobation   for 
their    seFfishness,    their   violence,    their    errors,    or    their 
wickedness.     They   may   do   our   courHry   much    harm 
They  may  retard  its  growth,  destroy  its  hanpony,  impair 
its    character,  render    its    institutions    unstable,    pervert 

15  the  public  mind,  and  deprave  the  public  morals.     These 
are,  indeed,  evils,  and  sore  evils,  but  the  principle  of  life 
remains,  and  will  yet  struggle  with  assured  success,  over  - 
these  temporary  maladies. 

Still  we  are  great,  glorious,  united,  and  free ;  still  we 

20  have  a  name  that  is  revered  abroad,  and  loved  at  home, — 
a  name,  which  is  a  tower  of  strength  to  us  against  foreign 
wrong,  and  a  bond  of  internal  union  and  harmony, — a 
name,  which  no  enemy  pronounces  but  with  respect,  and 
which  no  citizen  hears,  but   with   a  throb  of  exultation. 

25  Still  we  have  that  blessed  Constitution,  which,  witb  all  its 
pretended  defects,  and  all  its  alleged  violations,  has  con- 
ferred more  benefit  on  man,  than  ever  yet  flowed  from  any 
other  human  institution, — which  has  established  justice, 
insured  domestic  tranquillity,   provided   for  the  common 

30  defence,  promoted  the  general  welfare,  and  which,  under 
God,  if  we  be  true  to  ourselves,  will  insure  the  blessings 
of  Liberty  to  us  and  our  posterity. 

Surely,  such  a  country,  and  such  a- Constitution,  have 
claims    upon   you,   my   friends,  which   cannot   be    disre- 

35  garded.  I  entreat  and  adjure  you,  then,  by  all  that  is 
near  and  dear  to  you  on  earth,  by  all  the  obligations  of 
patriotism,  by  the  memory  of  your  fathers,  who  fell  in  the 
great  and  glorious  struggle,  for  the  sake  of  your  sons, 
whom  you  would  not  have  to  blush  for  your  degeneracy ; 

40  by  all  your  proud  recollections  of  the  past,  and  all  the 
fond  anticipations  of  the  future  renown  of  our  nation, — 
preserve  that  Country, — uphold  that  Constitution.  Re- 
solve, that  they  shall  not  be  lost,  while  in  your  keeping;  and 
may  God  Ahnighty  strengthen  you  to  perform  that  vow  ' 


I 


J 


PART    U.J                            KfiAUi..      AND    SPEAKER.  383 

LESSON  CCIX. RESTLESS    M  IRIT   0F    MAN. WILBUR  FISK. 

There  is  a  spirit,  an  active,  aspiring  principle  in  man, 
which  cannot  be  broken  down  by  oppression,  or  satisfied 
by  indulgence. 

"  He  has  a  soul  of  vast  desires, 
5  It  burns  within  with  restless  fires :" 

Desires,  which  no  earthly  good  can  satisfy ;  fires,  which 
no  waters  of  afiiiction  or  discouragement  can  quench. 
And  it  is  from  this,  his  nature,  that  society  derives  all  its 
interests,  and  here  also  lies  all  its  danger.     This  spirit  is 

lO  at  once  the  terror  of  tyrants,  and  the  destroyer  of  repub- 
lics. 

To  form  some  idea  of  its  strength,  let  us  look  at  it  in 
its  different  conditions,  both  when  it  is  depressed,  and 
when  it  is  exalted.    See,  when  it  is  bent  down,  for  a  time, 

15  by  the  iron  grasp  and  leaden  sceptre  of  tyranny,  cramping, 
and  curtailing,  and  hedging  in  the  soul,  and  foiling  it  in 
all  its  attempts  to  break  from  its  bonds  and  assert  its 
native  independence.  In  these  cases,  the  noble  spirit, 
like  a  wild  beast  in   the  toils,  sinks  down,  at  times,  into 

20  sullen  inactivity,  only  that  it  may  rise  again,  when 
exhausted  nature  is  a  little  restored,  to  rush,  as  hope 
excites,  or  madness  impels,  in  stronger  paroxysms  against 
the  cords  which  bind  it  down. 

This  is  seen  in  the  mobs  and  rebellions  of  the  most 

25  besotted  and  enslaved  nations.  Witness  the  repeated  con- 
vulsions in  Ireland,  that  degraded  and  oppressed  country. 
Neither  desolating  armies,  nor  numerous  garrisons,  nor 
the  most  rigorous  administration,  enforced  by  thousands 
of  public  executions,  can  break  the  spirit  of  that  restless 

30  people. 

Witness  Greece :  generations  have  passed  away>  since 
the  warriors  of  Greece  have  had  their  feet  put  in  fetters, 
and  the  race  of  heroes  had  apparently  become  extinct ; 
and  the  Grecian  lyre  had  long  been  unstrung,   and  her 

35  lights  put  out.  Her  haughty  masters  thought  her  spirit 
was  dead ;  but  it  was  not  dead,  it  only  si  pt.  In  a 
moment,  as  it  were,  we  saw  all  Greece  in  arms ;  she  shook 
ofi'her  slumbers,  and  rushed,  with  frenzy  and  hope,  upon 
seeming  impossibilities,  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

40  We  see,  then,  that  man  has  a  spirit,  which  is  not  easily 
broken  down  by  oppression.  Let  us  inquire,  whether  it 
can  be  more  easily  satisfied  by  indulgence.    And,  in  every 


384  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   TL 

*  Step  of  this  inquiry,  we  shall  find  that  no  miser  ever  yet 
had  gold  enough ;  no  office-seeker  ever  yet  had  honor 
enough ;  no  conqueror  ever  yet  subdued  kingdoms  enough. 
When  the  rich  man  had  filled  his  store-houses,  he  must 
5  pull  down  and  build  larger.  When  Cajsar  had  conquered 
all  his  enemies,  he  must  enslave  his  friends. 

When  Bonaparte  had  become  the  Emperor  of  France,  he 
aspired  to  the  throne  of  all  Europe.  Facts,  a  thousand 
facts,  in  every  age,  and  among  all  classes,  prove,  that  such 

10  is  the  ambitious  nature  of  the  soul,  such  the  increasing 
compass  of  its  vast  desires,  that  the  material  universe, 
with  all  its  vastne^s,  richness,  and  variety,  cannot  satisfy 
it.  Nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  the  governments  of  this 
world,  in  their  most  perfect  forms,  so  to  interest  the  feel- 

15  ings,  so  to  regulate  the  desires,  so  to  restrain  the  passions, 
or  so  to  divert,  or  charm,  or  chain  the  souls  of  a  whole 
community,  but  that  these  latent  and  ungovernable  fires 
will,  sooner  or  later,  burst  out  and  endanger  the  whole 
body  politic. 

20  What  has  been  the  fate  of  the  ancient  republics  ?  They 
have  been  dissolved  by  this  same  restless  and  disorganiz- 
ing spirit,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking.  And  do  we 
not  see  the  same  dangerous  spirit,  in  our  own  compara- 
tively happy  and  strongly  constituted  republic  ? 

25  Here,  the  road  to  honor  and  wealth  is  open  to  all ;  and 
here,  is  general  intelligence.  But  here,  man  is  found  to 
possess  the  same  nature  as  elsewhere.  And  the  stirrings 
of  his  restless  spirit  have  already  disturbed  the  peace  of 
society,  and  portend  future  convulsions.     Party  spirit  is 

30  begotten ;  ambitious  views  are  engendered,  and  fed,  and 
inflamed ;  many  are  running  the  race  for  office ;  rivals 
are  envied ;  characters  are  aspersed ;  animosities  are  en- 
kindled ;  and  the  whole  community  are  disturbed  by  the 
electioneering  contest. 

35  Already  office-seekers,  in  different  parts  of  the  country, 
unblushingly  recommend  themselves  to  notice,  and  palm 
themselves  upon  the  people,  by  every  electioneerinqfj 
manoeuvre;  and  in  this  way*  such  an  excitement  is  pn 
duced,  in  many  parts  of  the  Union,  as  makes  the  contend- 

10  ing  parties  almost  like  mobs,  assailing  each  other.     Onl; 
let  the  public  sense  become  vitiated,  and  let  a  number  of  J 
causes  unite  to  produce  a  general  excitement;  and  all  our 
(air  political  proportions   would  fall  before  the  spirit  of 


PART    U.J  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  385 

party,  as  certainly  and  as  ruinously,  as  the  fair  propor- 
tions of  Italian  architecture  fell  before  the  ancient  Goths 
and  Vandals.  

LESSON    CCX. RECTITUDE    OF    CHARACTER. ^WILLIAM    WIRT. 

The  man  who  is  so  conscious  of  the  rectitude  of  his 
intentions,  as  to  be  willing  to  open  his  bosom  to  the 
inspection  of  the  world,  is  in  possession  of  one  of  the 
strongest  pillars  of  a  decided  character.  The  course  of 
5  such  a  man  will  be  firm  and  steady,  because  he  has 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  world,  and  is  sure  of  the  appro- 
bation and  support  of^  Heaven.  While  he,  who  is  con- 
scious of  secret  and  dark  designs,  which,  if  known,  would 
blast  him,  is  perpetually  shrinking  and  dodging  from  pub- 

10  lie  observation,  and  is  afraid  of  all  around,  and  much 
more  of  all  above  him. 

Such  a  man  may,  indeed,  pursue  his  iniquitous  plans 
steadily ;  he  may  waste  himself  to  a  skeleton  in  the  guihy 
pursuit;  but  it  is  impossible  that  he  can  pursue  them  with 

15  the  same  health-inspiring  confidence,  and  exulting  alacrity, 
with  him  who  feels,  at  every  step,  that  he  is  in  pursuit  of 
honest  ends,  by  honest  means. 

The  clear,  unclouded  brow,  the  open  countenance,  the 
brilliant  eye  which  can  look  an  honest  man  steadfastly, 

20  yet  courteously,  in  the  face,  the  healthfully  beating  heart, 
and  the  firm,  elastic  step,  belong  to  him  whose  bosom  is 
free  from  guile,  and  who  knows  that  all  his  motives  and 
purposes  are  pure  and  right.  Why  should  such  a  man 
falter  in  his  course  ?     He  may  be  slandered ;  he  may  be 

25  deserted  by  the  world ;  but  he  has  that  within  which  will 
keep  him  erect,  and  enable  him  to  move  onward*  in  his 
course,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Heaven,  which  he  knows 
will  not  desert  him. 

Let  your  first  step,  then,  in  that  discipline  which  is  to 

30  give  you  decision  of  character,  be  the  heroic  determination 
to  be  honest  men,  and  to  preserve  this  character  through 
every  vicissitude  of  fortune,  and  in  every  relation  which 
connects  you  with  society.  I  do  not  use  this  phrase, 
"  honest  men,"  in  the  narrow  sense,  merely,  of  meeting 

35  your  pecuniary  engagements,  and  paying  your  debts ;  for 
this  the  common  pride  of  gentlemen  will  constrain  you  to 
do. 

I  use  it   in   its   larger  sense   of  discharging  all  your 
33 


388  Ai^IEIUCAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U. 

dutiei,  both  public  and  private,  both  open  and  secret,  with 
the  most  scrupulous.  Heaven-attesting  integrity  :  in  thai 
sense,  farther,  which  drives  from  the  bosom  all  little,  dark 
crooked,  sordid,  debasing  considerations  of  self,  and  sul> 
6  slitutes  in  their  place  a  bolder,  loftier,  and  nobler  spirit : 
one  that  will  dispose  you  to  consider  yourselves  as  born, 
not  so  much  for  yourselves,  as  for  your  country,  and  your 
fellow-creatures,  and  which  will  lead  you  to  act,  on  every 
occasion,  sincerely,  justly,  generously,  magnanimously. 

10  There  is  a  morality  on  a  larger  scale,  perfectly  con- 
sistent with  a  just  attention  to  your  own  affairs,  which  it 
would  be  the  height  of  folly  to  neglect;  a  generous 
expansion,  a  proud  elevation,  and  conscious  greatness  of 
character,  which  is   the  best   preparation  for  a  decided 

15  course,  in  every  situation  into  which  you  can  be  thrown ; 
and,  it  is  to  this  high  and  noble  tone  of  character  that  1 
would  have  you  to  aspire. 

I   would   not   have    you   to  resemble  those  weak  and 
meagre    streamlets,  which    lose   their  direction  at  every 

20  petty  impediment  that  presents  itself,  and  stop,  and  turn 
back,  and  creep  around,  and  search  out  every  little  chan- 
nel through  which  they  may  wind  their  feeble  and  sickjy 
course.  Nor  yet  would  I  have  you  to  resemble  the  heaa- 
long  torrent  that  carries  havoc  in  its  mad  career. 

25  But  I  would  have  you  like  the  ocean,  that  noblest 
emblem  of  majestic  Decision,  which,  in  the  calmest  hour, 
still  heaves  its  resistless  might  of  waters  to  the  shore,  fill- 
ing the  heavens,  day  and  night,  with  the  echoes  of  its 
sublime    Declaration  of  Independence,  and    tossing  and 

30  sporting  on  its  bed,  with  an  imperial  consciousness  of 
strength  that  laughs  at  opposition.  It  is  this  depth,  and 
weight,  and  power,  and  purity  of  character,  that  I  would 
have  you  to  resemble  ;  and  I  would  have  you,  like  the 
waters  of  the  ocean,  to  become  the  purer  by  your  own 

35  action.  

LESSON    CCXI. — WASHINGTON. — DANIEL   WEBSTER. 

America  has  furnished  to  the  world  the  character  of 
Washington  !  And  if  our  American  institutions  had  done 
nothing  else,  that  alone  would  have  entitled  thoin  to  the 
respect  of  mankind. 
5  Washington  !  "  First  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  iirst  in 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  !'*  Washington  is  all  oui 
own !     The  enthusiastic  veneration  and  regard  in  which 


PART   IL]  reader    AND    SPEAKER.  387 

the  people  of  the  United  States  hold  him,  prove  them  to 
be  worthy  of  such  a  countryman ;  while  his  reputation 
abroad  reflects  the  highest  honor  on  his  country  and  its 
institutions.  I  would  cheerfully  put  the  question  to-day 
5  to  the  intelligence  of  Europe,  and  the  world,  what  character 
of  the  century,  upon  the  whole,  stands  out  in  the  relief  of 
history,  most  pure,  most  respectable,  most  sublime ;  and  I 
doubt  not,  that,  by  a  sufTrage  approaching  to  unanimity, 
the  answer  would  be,  Washington  ! 

10  This  structure,^  by  its  uprightness,  its  solidity,  its  dura- 
bility, is  no  unfit  emblem  of  his  character.  His  public  vir- 
tues and  public  principles  were  as  firm  as  the  earth  on 
which  it  stands;  his  personal  motives,  as  pure  as  the  se- 
rene heaven  in  which  its  summit  is  lost.     But,  indeed, 

15  though  a  fit,  it  is  an  inadequate  emblem.  Towering  high 
above  the  column  which  our  hands  have  builded,  beheld, 
not  by  the  inhabitants  of  a  single  city,  or  a  single  state, — 
ascends  the  colossal  grandeur  of  his  character,  and  his  life. 
In  all  the  constituents  of  the  one, — in  all  the  acts  of  Jie 

20  other, — in  all  its  titles  to  immortal  love,  admiration,  and 
renown, — it  is  an  American  production.  It  is  the  embod- 
iment and  vindication  of  our  transatlantic  liberty.  Bom 
upon  our  soil, — of  parents  also  born  upon  it, — never  for  a 
moment  having  had  a  sight  of  the  old  world, — instructed, 

25  according  to  the  modes  of  his  time,  only  in  the  spare,  plain, 
bttt  wholesome  elementary  knowledge,  which  our  institu- 
tions provide  for  the  children  of  the  people, — growing  up 
beneath,  and  penetrated  by,  the  genuine  influences  of 
American    society, — growing   up  amidst    our  expanding, 

30  but  not  luxurious,  civilization, — partaking  in  our  great 
destiny  of  labor,  our  long  contest  with  unreclaimed  nature 
and  uncivilized  man, — our  agony  of  glory,  the  war  of  in- 
dependence,— our  great  victory  of  peace,  the  formation  of 
the  Union,  and  the  establishment  of  the  Constitution, — ^he 

35  is  all, — all  our  own!     That  crowded  and  glorious  life, — 

"  Where  multitudes  of  virtues  passed  along, 
Each  pressing  foremost  in  the  mighty  throng, 
Contending  to  be  seen,  then  making  room 
For  greater  multitudes  that  were  to  come  ;" — 

40  that  life  was  the  life  of  an  American  citizen. 

I  claim  him  for  America.     In  all  the  perils,  in  every 
darkened  moment  of  the  state,  in   the  midst  of  the  ro- 

♦  The  Bunker  Hill  Monument. 


388  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  ,PART   O 

proaches  of  enemies  and  the  misgivings  of  friends, — I  turn 
to  that  transcendent  name,  for  courage  and  for  consolation 
To  him  who  denies,  or  doubts,  whether  our  fervid  liberty 
can  be  combined  with  law,  with  order,  with  the  security 
of  property,  with  the  pursuits  and  advancement  of  happi- 
5  ness, — to  him  who  denies  that  our  institutions  are  capable 
of  producing  exaltation  of  soul,  and  the  passion  of  true 
glory, — to  him  who  denies  that  we  have  contributed  any- 
thing to  the  stock  of  great  lessons  and  great  examples, — 
to  all  these  I  reply  by  pointing  to  Washington ! 


LESSON  CCXn. PUBLIC   FAITH. FISHER  AMES. 

To  expatiate  on  the  value  of  public  faith,  may  pass,  with 
some  men,  for  declamation, — to  such  men  I  have  nothing  to 
say.  To  others  I  will  urge, — can  any  circumstance  mark 
upon  a  people  more  turpitude  and  debasement,  than  the 
5  want  of  it  ?  Can  anything  tend  more  to  make  men  think 
themselves  mean,  or  degrade  to  a  lower  point  their  esti- 
mation of  virtue,  than  such  a  standard  of  action  ? 

It  would  not  merely  demoralize  mankind;  it  tends  to 
break  all  the  ligaments  of  society,  to  dissolve  that  myste- 

10  rious  charm  which  attracts  individuals  to  the  nation,  and 
to  inspire,  in  its  stead,  a  repulsive-  sense  of  shame  and  dis- 
gust. 

\VTiat  is  patriotism  ?    Is  it  a  narow  affection  for  the  spot 
where  a  man  was  born  ?     Are  the  very  clods  where  we 

15  tread  entitled  to  this  ardent  preference  because  they  are 
greener?  No,  sir,  this  is  not  the  character  of  the  virtue; 
and  it  soars  higher  for  its  object.  It  is  an  extended  self- 
love,  mingling  with  all  the  enjoyments  of  life,  and  twisting 
itself  with  the  minutest  filaments  of  the  heart.     It  is  thus 

20  we  obey  the  laws  of  society,  because  they  are  the  laws  of 
virtue.  In  their  authority  we  see,  not  the  array  of  force 
and  terror,  but  the  venerable  image  of  our  country's  honor. 
Every  good  citizen  makes  that  honor  his  own,  and  cher- 
ishes it  not  only  as  precious,  but  as  sacred.     He  is  willing 

25  to  risk  his  life  in  its  defence,  and  is  conscious  that  he 
gains  protection  while  he  gives  it.  For  what  rights  of  a 
citizen  will  be  deemed  inviolable,  when  a  state  rencuncec 
the  principles  that  constitute  their  security  ?  Or  if  his  life 
should  not  be  invaded,  what  would  its  enjoyments  be,  in  a 

30  country  odious  in  the  eyes  of  strangers,  and  dishonored  in 
his  own  '     Could  he  look  with  affection  and  veneration  tc 


►  tRT   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  389 

such  a  country,  as  his  parent  ?     The  sense  of  having  one 

would  die  witliin  him  ;  he  would  blush  for  his  patriotism, 
if  he  retained  any,  and  justly,  for  it  would  be  a  vice.  Ho 
would  be  a  banished  man  in  his  native  land. 
5  I  see  no  exception  to  the  respect,  that  is  paid  among 
nations,  to  the  law  of  good  faith.  If  there  are  cases  in  this 
enlightened  period,  when  it  is  violated,  there  are  none 
when  it  is  decried.  It  is  the  philosophy  of  politics,  the 
religion  of  governments.     It  is  observed  by  barbarians, — 

10  a  whifT  of  tobacco  smoke,  or  a  string  of  beads,  gives  not 
merely  binding  force,  but  sanctity  to  treaties.  Even  in 
Algiers,  a  truce  may  be  bought  for  money,  but  when  rati- 
fied, even  Algiers  is  too  wise,  or  too  just,  to  disown  and 
annul  its  obligation.     Thus  we  see,  neither  the  ignorance 

15  of  savages,  nor  the  principles  of  an  association  for  piracy 
and  rapine,  permit  a  nation  to  despise  its  engagements.  If, 
sir,  there  could  be  a  resurrection  from  the  foot  of  the  gal- 
lows, if  the  victims  of  justice  could  live  again,  collect 
together  and  form  a  society,  they  would,  however  loath, 

20  soon  find  themselves  obliged  to  make  justice,  that  justice 
under  which  they  fell,  the  fundamental  law  of  their  state. 
They  would  perceive  it  was  their  interest  to  make  others 
respect,  and  they  would  therefore  soon  pay  some  respect 
themselves  to  the  obligations  of  good  faith. 

25  It  is  painful,  I  hope  it  is  superfluous,  to  make  even  the 
supposition,  that  America  should  furnish  the  occasion  of 
this  opprobrium.  No,  let  me  not  even  imagine  that  a  re- 
publican government  sprung,  as  our  own  is,  from  a  people 
enlightened  and  uncorrupted,  a  government  whose  origin 

30  is  right,  and  whose  daily  discipline  is  duty,  can,  upon 
solemn  debate,  make  its  option  to  be  faithless,— can  dare 
to  act  what  despots  dare  not  avow,  what  our  own  example 
evinces,  the  states  of  Barbary  are  unsuspected  of.  No,  let 
me  rather  make  the  supposition,  that  Great  Britain  refuses 

35  to  execute  the  treaty,  after  we  have  done  every  thing  to 
carry  it  into  effect.  Is  there  any  language  of  reproach, 
pungent  enough  to  express  your  commentary  on  the  fact? 
What  would  you  say,  or  rather  wdiat  would  you  not  say  ? 
Would  you  not  tell  them,  wherever  an  Englishman  might 

40  travel,  shame  would  stick  to  him, — he  would  disown  his 

country.     You   would  exclaim,  England,  proud  of  your 

wealth,  and  arrogant  in  the  possession  of  power, — blush 

for  these  distinctions,  which  become  the  vehicles  of  your 

33^ 


390  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   VU 

dishonor.     Such  a  nation  might  truly  say  to  corruption, 
thou  art  my  father,  and  to  the  worm,  thou  art  my  mother 
and  m^*"  sister.     We  should  say  of  such  a  race  of  men  * 
their  name  is  a  heavier  burden  than  their  debt. 


LESSON  CCXIII. FREE    INSTITUTIONS    FAVORABLE    TO    LITEF.A- 

TURE. EDWARD    EVERETT. 

The  greatest  efforts  of  human  genius  have  been  made 
where  the  nearest  approach  to  free  institutions  has  taken 
place.  There  shone  not  forth  one  ray  of  intellectual  light 
to  cheer  the  long  and  gloomy  ages  of  the  Memphian  and 
5  Babylonian  despots.  Not  a  historian,  not  an  orator,  not 
a  poet,  is  heard  of  in  their  annals.  When  you  ask,  what 
was  achieved  by  the  generations  of  thinking  beings,  the 
millions  of  men,  whose  natural  genius  was  as  bright  as 
that  of  the  Greeks,  nay,  who  forestalled  the  Greeks  in  the 

10  first  invention  of  many  of  the  arts, — you  are  told,  that 
they  built  the  pyramids  of  Memphis,  the  temples  of 
Thebes,  and  the  tower  of  Babylon,  and  carried  Sesostris 
and  Ninus  upon  their  shoulders,  from  the  west  of  Africa 
to  the  Indus. 

15  Mark  the  contrast  in  Greece.  With  the  first  emerging 
of  that  country  into  the  light  of  political  liberty,  the  poems 
of  Homer  appear.  Some  centuries  of  political  misrule  and 
literary  darkness  follow ;  and  then  the  great  constellation 
of  their  geniuses  seems  to  arise  at  once.     The  stormy  elo- 

20  quence  and  the  deep  philosophy,  the  impassioned  drama 
and  the  grave  history,  were  all  produced  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  that  "fierce  democracie"  of  Athens.  Here,  then, 
the  genial  influence  of  liberty  on  letters,  is  strongly  put  to 
the  test.     Athens  was  certainly  a  free  state;  free  to  licen- 

25  tinusness, — free   to  madness.     The  rich  were  arbitrarily 
pillaged  to   defray  the  expenses  V)f  the  state ;  the  greiB 
were  banished  to  appease  the  envy  of  their  rivals  ;  th^ 
wise  sacrificed  to  the  fury  of  the  populace.    It  was  a  state, 
in  short,  where  liberty  existed  with  most  of  the  imperfec 

30  tions  wliich  have  led  men  to  love  and  praise  despotisi 
Still,  however,  it  was  for  this  lawless,  merciless  peoph 
that  the  most  chastised  and  accomplished  literature,  whici 
the  world  has  known,  was  produced. 

The  philosophy  of  Plato  was  the  attraction  which  drow 


PART   II.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  391 

to  a  morning's  walk  in  the  olive  gardens  of  the  academy, 
the  young  men  of  this  factious  city.  Those  tumultuous 
assemblies  of  Athens, — the  very  same,  which  rose  in 
their  wrath,  and  to  a  man  clamored  for  the  blood  of 
6  Phocion, — required  to  be  addressed,  not  in  the  cheap, 
extemporaneous  rant  of  modern  demagogues,  but  in  the 
elaborate  and  thrice-repeated  orations  of  Demosthenes. 
No !  the  noble  and  elegant  arts  of  Greece  grew  up  in  no 
Augustan  age, — enjoyed  neither  royal  nor  imperial  patron- 

10  age.  Unknown  before  in  the  world,  strangers  on  the 
Nile,  and  strangers  on  the  Euphrates,  they  sprang  at  once 
into  life  in  a  region  not  unlike  our  own  New  England, — 
iron-bound,  sterile,  and  free. 

The  imperial  astronomers  of  Chaldea  went  up  almost 

15  to  the  stars  in  their  observatories ;  but  it  was  a  Greek  who 
first  foretold  an  eclipse,  and  measured  the  year.  The 
nations  of  the  East  invented  the  alphabet ;  but  not  a  line 
has  reached  us  of  profane  literature,  in  any  of  their  lan- 
guages,— and    it  is  owing  to    the  embalming  power  of 

20  Grecian  genius,  that  the  invention  itself  has  been  trans- 
mitted to  the  world.  The  Egyptian  architects  could  erect 
structures,  which,  after  three  thousand  five  hundred  years, 
are  still  standing  in  their  uncouth,  original  majesty;  but  it 
was  only  on  the  barren  soil  of  Attica,  that  the  beautiful 

25  columns  of  the  Parthenon  and  the  Theseum  could  rest, 
Avhich  are  standing  also.  With  the  decline  of  liberty  in 
Greece,  began  the  decline  of  all  her  letters,  and  all  her 
arts,  though  her  tumultuous  democracies  were  succeeded 
by  liberal  and  accomplished  princes. 


LESSON  CCXIV. THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION  NECESSARY  FOR 

A  PREACHER. PROF.  PARK. 

Among  all  the  attractions  of  divine  worship,  there  is 
none  like  that  of  the  preacher's  natural  eloquence.  No 
instrument  of  music  is  so  sweet  as  the  human  voice,  when 
attuned,  as  it  may  be,  by  care.  The  most  exhilarating 
band  of  performers  on  the  dulcimer  and  the  cymbal,  will 
be  heard  with  less  pleasure,  than  he  who  has  learned  to 
play  well  on  that  instrument  which  is  as  far  superior  to 
all  others,  as  a  work  of  God  is  superior  to  the.  works  of 
man.     Let  it  then  no  longer  be  said,  that  while  an  organ- 


392  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

ist  will  spend  years  in  learning  to  manage  a  collection  of 
leaden  pipes,  the  preacher  is  unwilling  lo  exert  himself 
for  acquiring  a  control  over  the  stops  and  keys  of  what  is 
far  more  religious  in  its  tones,  than  the  organ.  So,  like- 
6  wise,  the  human  eye  can  be  made  eloquent,  when  the 
tongue  can  say  no  more ;  the  palm  of  the  hand,  too,  has 
an  eye  which  is  full  of  meaning.  But  the  philosophy 
of  these  organs  is  neither  understood,  nor  applied  to  prac- 
tice, by  our  preachers. 

10  If  we  dwelt  in  a  land,  where  the  preacher  is  the  only 
man  who  ventures  to  address  an  assembly,  then  we  might 
lean  on  this  privilege,  and  rest  assured,  that  a  faulty  elo- 
quence in  the  pulpit,  is  better  than  none  at  all  among  the 
people.     But  we  dwell  in  a  land,  where  the  laymen  are 

15  popular  orators ;  where  the  mechanic  is  master  of  a  racy, 
vigorous  diction  ;  where  the  reformed  inebriate  can  elec- 
trify an  audience  who  will  sleep  under  a  lifeless  sermon  ; 
where  the  enemies  of  religion  and  social  order,  have 
caught  the  spirit  and  the  fire  Avhich   the   ministry  have 

20  lost.  Other  men  can  speak  without  reading  ;  and  unless 
we  can  use,  in  a  good  cause,  the  weapons  which  infidels 
use  in  a  bad  one,  we  shall  surrender  the  truth  to  dangers 
which  can  arise  nowhere,  but  in  a  republic.  Nowhere, 
but  in  this  republic,  is  the  force  of  popular  eloquence  felt 

25  universally ;  and  the  church  will  be  overborne,  if  this 
force  be  not  controlled  with  unwonted  skill. 

We  have  not  sought  to  recover  the  naturalness  of  man- 
ner which  an  artificial  education  has  perverted.  We  still 
allow  our  theological  seminaries  to  remain  destitute  of  all 

30  adequate  instruction  on  this  theme.  It  is  confidently  be- 
lieved, that,  if  professorships  of  elocution  were  properly 
endow^ed  and  supplied  in  our  theological  seminaries,  a 
more  imviediate  and  a  more  manifest  service  would  be 
rendered  to  the  pulpit,  than  can  be  performed  by  almost 

35  any  other  charity  ;  for  the  department  of  elocution  is  now 
more  neglected  than  any  other ;  and  if  nature  were  allowed 
to  resume  the  place,  from  which  the  worst  species  of  art 
has  expelled  it,  the  improvement  in  our  speech  would  be 
seen  and  felt  more  easily,  quickly,  and  generally,  than 

40  almost  any  other  kind  of  improvement. 


PART   II.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  393 

LESSON    CCXV. RELIEF    OF    REVOLUTIONARY    OFFICERS. 

MARTIN    VAN    BUREN. 

Let  US  look,  for  a  moment,  at  the  arguments  advanced 
by  the  opponents  of  the  bill.  The  meritorious  services  of 
the  petitioners,  the  signal  advantages  that  have  resulted 
from  these  services  to  us  and  to  posterity  ;  the  losses  sus- 
5  tained  by  the  petitioners,  and  the  consequent  advantages 
derived  by  the  government  from  the  act  of  commutation, 
are  unequivocally  admitted. 

.  But  it  is  contended,  we  have  made  a  compromise  legally 
binding  on  the  parties,  and  exonerating  the  government 

10  from  farther  liability  ;  that,  in  an  evil  and  unguarded  hour, 
they  have  given  us  a  release,  and  we  stand  upon  our 
"bond." 

Now,  the  question  which  I  wish  to  address  to  the  con- 
science and  the  judgment  of  this  honorable  body,  is  this, 

15  not  whether  this  issue  was  well  taken  in  point  of  law ; 
not  whether  we  might  not  hope  for  a  safe  deliverance 
under  it ;  but  whether  the  issue  ought  to  be  taken  at  all  ; 
whether  it  comports  with  the  honor  of  the  government  to 
plead  a  legal  exemption  against  the  claims  of  gratitude  ; 

20  whether,  in  other  words,  the  government  be  bound  at  all 
times  to  insist  upon  its  strict  legal  rights. 

Has  this  been  the  practice  of  the  government  on  all  for- 
mer occasions  ?  Or,  is  this  the  only  question  on  which 
this   principle   should   operate?     Nothing   can  be  easier 

25  than  to  show,  that  the  uniform  practice  of  the  government 
has  been  at  war  with  the  principle  which  is  now  opposed 
to  the  claim  of  the  petitioners. 

Not  a  session  has  occurred,  since  the  commencement  of 
this  government,  in  which  Congress  has  not  relieved  the 

30  citizens  from  hardships  resulting  from  unforeseen  contin- 
gencies, and  forborne  an  enforcement  of  law,  when  »*.<? 
enforcement  would  work  great  and  undeserved  injury.  I 
might,  if  excusable  on  an  occasion  like  this,  turn  over  the 
statute  book,  page  by  page,  and  give  repeated  proofs  of 

35  this  assertion.     But  it  is  unnecessary. 

It  appears,  then,  that  it  has  not  been  the  practice  of  the 
government  to  act  the  part  of  Shylock  with  its  citizens  , 
and  God  forbid,  that  it  should  make  its  debut*  on  the 
present  occasion,  not  so  much  in  the  character  of  a  merci- 

40  less  creditor,  as  a  reluctant,  though  wealthy  debtor ;  with 
holding  the  merted  pittance  from  those  to  whose  noble 

♦  Pronounced  dabu. 


394  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   H. 

daring  and  unrivalled  fortitude,  we  are  indebted  for  the 
privilege  of  sitting  in  judgment  on  their  claims  ;  and 
manifesting  more  sensibility  for  the  purchasers  of  our 
lands,  than  for  those  by  whose  bravery  they  were  won  ;  and 
6  but  for  whose  achievements,  those  very  purchasers,  instead 
of  being  the  proprietors  of  their  soil,  and  the  citizens  of 
free  and  sovereign  states,  might  now  be  the  miserable 
vassals  of  some  worthless  favorite  of  arbitrary  power. 
If  disposed  to  be  less  liberal  to  the  Revolutionary  offi- 

10  cers  than  to  other  classes  of  community,  let  us  at  least 

testify   our  gratitude  by  relieving   their   sufferings,'  and 

returning  a  portion  of  those  immense  gains  which  have 

been  the  glorious  fruits  of  their  toil  and  of  their  blood. 

Such  would,  in  my  judgment,  be  a  correct  view  of  the 

15  subject,  had  the  government  relieved  itself  of  all  farther 
liability,  by  the  most  ample  and  unexceptionable  perform- 
ance of  its  stipulations.  How  much  stronger,  then,  will 
be  their  appeal  to  your  justice,  if  it  can  be  shown,  that  you 
have  no  right  to  urge  this  act  of  commutation,  as  a  com- 

20  plete  fulfilment  of  your  promise  ? 


LESSON   CCXVI. RAPACITY  AND  BARBARITY    OF    A   BRITISH 

SOLDIERY. WM.  LIVINGSTON. 

After  deploring  with  you  the  desolation  spread  through 
this  state,  by  an  unrelenting  enemy,  who  have,  indeed, 
marked  their  progress  with  a  devastation  unknown  to  civ- 
ilized nations,  aid  evincive  of  the  most  implacable  ven- 
5  geance,  I  heartily  congratulate  you  upon  that  subsequent 
series  of  success,  wherewith  it  hath  pleased  the  Almighty 
to  crown  the  American  arms ;  and  particularly,  on  the  im- 
portant enterprise  against  the  enemy  at  Trenton,  and  the 
signal  victory  obtained  over  them  at  rrinceton,  by  the  gal- 

10  lant  troops  under  the  command  of  his  excellency,  General  1 
Washington.  ■ 

Considering  the  contemptible  figure  they  make  at  pres- 
ent, and  the  disgust  they  have  given  to  many  of  their  own  I 
confederates  amongst  us,  by  their  more  than  Gothic  rav-  1 

15  ages,  (for  thus  doth  the  great  Disposer  of  events  often  de- 
duce good  out  of  evil,)  their  irruption  into  our  dominion 
will  probably  redound  to  the  public  benefit.     It  has  cer- 
tainly enabled  us  the  more  effectually  to  distinguish  our 
^friends  from  our  enemies.     It  has  winnowed  the  chaflf 

20  from  the  grain.    It  has  discriminated  the  temporizing  poH 
tician,  who,  at  the  first  appearance  of  danger,  was  deter 


I 


PAJIT    II.  READER    AND    SFKAKER.  395 

mined  to  secure  his  idol,  property,  at  the  hazard  of  the 
general  weal,  from  the  persevering  patriot,  who,  having 
embarked  his  all  in  the  common  cause,  chooses  rather  to 
risk,  rather  to  lose  that  all,  for  the  preservation  of  the 
6  more  estimable  treasure,  liberty,  than  to  possess  it,  (enjoy 
it  he  certainly  could  not,)  upon  the  ignominious  terms  ot 
tamely  resigning  his  country  and  posterity  to  perpetual 
servitude.  It  has,  in  a  word,  opened  the,  eyes  of  those 
who  were  made  to  believe,  that  their  impious  merit,  in 

10  abetting  our  persecutors,  would  exempt  them  from  being 

.     involved  in  the  general  calamity. 

But,  as  the  rapacity  of  the  enemy  was  boundless,  their 
havoc  was  indiscriminate,  and  their  barbarity  unparalleled. 
They  have  plundered  friends  and  foes.     Effects,  capable 

15  of  division,  they  have  divided.  Such  as  were  not,  they 
have  destroyed.  They  have  warred  upon  decrepit  age ;' 
warred  upon  defenceless  youth.  They  have  committed 
hostilities  against  the  professors  of  literature,  and  the  min- 
isters of  religion  ;  against  public  records,  and  private  mon- 

20  uments,  and  books  of  improvement,  and  papers  of  curiosity, 
and  against  the  arts  and  sciences.  They  have  butchered 
the  wounded,  asking  for  quarter;  mangled  the  dying, wel- 
tering in  their  blood  ;  refused  to  the  dead  the  rites  of 
sepulture  ;  suffered  prisoners  to  perish  for  want  of  suste- 

25  nance  ;  violated  the  chastity  of  women  ;  disfigured  private 
dwellings  of  taste  and  elegance ;  and,  in  the  rage  of  im- 
piety and  barbarism,  profaned  and  prostrated  edifices  dedi- 
cated to  Almighty  God. 

And  yet  there  are  those  amongst  us,  who,  either  from 

30  ambitious  or  lucrative  motives,  or  intimidated  by  the  terror 
of  their  arms,  or  from  a  partial  fondness  for  the  British  con- 
stitution, or  deluded  by  insidious  propositions,  are  secretly 
abetting,  or  openly  aiding  their  machinations  to  deprive  us 
of  that  liberty,  without  which  man  is  a  beast,  and  govern 

2^  ment  a  curse. 


LESSON  CCXVII.-^FREE    NAVIGATION  OF  THE    MISSISSIPPI. 

GOUVERNEUR  MORRIS. 

Sir,  I  wish  for  peace  ;  I  wish  the  negotiation  may  suc- 
ceed ;  and,  therefore,  I  strongly  urge  you  to  adopt  these  res- 
olutions. But  though  you  should  adopt  them,  they  alone 
will  not  ensure  success.     I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying 


39d  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  H 

that  you  ought  to  have  taken  possession  of  New  Orleans 
and  the  Floridas,  the  instant  your  treaty  was  violated. 
You  ought  to  do  it  now.  Your  rights  are  invaded :  con- 
fidence in  negotiation  is  vain  :  there  is,  therefore,  no  aher- 
6  native  but  force.  You  are  exposed  to  imminent  present 
danger :  you  have  the  prospect  of  great  future  advantage  : 
you  are  justified  by  the  clearest  principles  of  right:  you 
are  urged  by  the  strongest  motives  of  policy:  you  are 
commanded  by  eve.y  sentiment  of  national  dignity.    Look 

10  at  the  conduct  of  America  in  her  infant  years.  When 
there  was  no  actual  invasion  of  right,  but  only  a  claim  to 
invade,  she  resisted  the  claim  ;  she  spurned  the  insult. 
Did  we  then  hesitate?  Did  we  then  wait  for  foreign  alli- 
ance ?    No, — animated  with  the  spirit,  warmed  with  the  soul 

15  of  freedom,  we  threw  our  oaths  of  allegiance  in  the  face  of 
our  sovereign,  and  committed  our  fortunes,  and  our  fate,  to 
the  God  of  battles.  We  then  were  subjects.  We  had  not 
then  attained  to  the  dignity  of  an  independent  republic. 
We  then  had  no  rank  among  the  nations  of  the  earth.    But 

20  we  had  the  spirit  which  deserved  that  elevated  station.    And 

now  that  we  have  gained  it,  shall  we  fall  from  our  honor  ? 

Sir,  I  repeat  to  you,  that  I  wish  for  peace ;  real,  lasting, 

honorable  peace.     To  obtain  and  secure  this  blessing,  let 

us,  by  a  bold  and  decisive  conduct,  convince  the  powers  of 

25  Europe,  that  we  are  determined  to  defend  our  rights ;  that 
we  will  not  submit  to  insult ;  that  we  will  not  bear  degra- 
dation. This  is  the  conduct  which  becomes  a  generous 
people.  This  conduct  will  command  the  respect  of  the 
world.     Nay,  sir,  it  may  rouse  all  Europe  to  a  proper 

30  sense  of  their  situation.  They  see,  that  the  balance  of 
power,  on  which  their  liberties  depend,  is,  if  not  destroyed, 
in  extreme  danger.  They  know  that  the  dominion  of 
France  has  been  extended  by  the  sword,  over  millions, 
who  groan  in  the  servitude  of  their  new  masters.     These 

35  unwilling  subjects  are  ripe  for  revolt.  The  empire  of  the 
Gauls  is  not,  like  that  of  Rome,  secured  by  political  insti- 
tutions.    It  may  yet  be  brukxyi. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  conduct  of  others,  let  us  act  as 
becomes  ourselves.     I  cannot  believe,  with  my  honorable 

40  colleague,  that  three  fourths  of  America  are  opposed  to 
vigorous  measures.  I  cannot  believe,  that  they  will  mean- 
ly refuse  to  pay  the  sums  needful  to  vindfcate  their  honor, 
and  support  their  independence.  Sir,  this  is  a  libel  on 
the  people  of  America.     They  will  disdain  submission  to 


PART   II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  397 

the  proudest  sovereign  on  earth.  They  have  not  lost  the 
spirit  of  76.  But,  sir,  if  they  are  so  base,  as  to  barter 
their  rights  for  gold,- -if  ihey  are  so  vile,  that  they  will 
not  defend  their  honor, — they  are  unworthy  of  the  rank 
5  they  enjoy,  and  it  is  no  matter  how  soon  they  are  parcelled 
out  among  better  masters. 


LESSON   CCXVIII. OUR    DUTIES    TO    OUR    COUNTRY. — DANIEL 

WEBSTER. 

This  lovely  land,  this  glorious  liberty,  these  ben^  in- 
siitutions,  the  dear  purchase  of  our  fathers,  are  ours ;  ours 
to  enjoy,  ours  to  preserve,  ours  to  transmit.  Generations 
past,  and  generations  to  come,  hold  us  responsible  for  this 
5  sacred  trust.  Our  fathers,  from  behind,  admonish  us,  with 
their  anxious  paternal  voices ;  posterity  calls  out  to  us, 
from  the  bosom  of  the  future  ;  the  world  turns  hither  its 
solicitous  eyes, — all,  all  conjure  us  to  act  wisely,  and 
faithfully,   in  the   relation    v»'hich  we   sustain.      We    can 

10  never,  indeed,  pay  the  debt  which  is  upon  us;  but  by  vir- 
tue, by  morality,  by  religion,  by  the  cultivation  of  every 
good  principle  and  every  good  habit,  we  may  hope  to  en- 
joy the  blessing,  through  our  day,  and  to  leave  it  unim 
paired  to  our  children.     Let  us  feel  deeply  how  much,  of 

15  what  we  are  and  what  we  possess,  we  owe  to  this  liberty, 
and  these  institutions  of  government. 

Nature  has,  indeed,  given  us  a  soil  which  yields  boun- 
teously to  the  hands  of  industry;  the  mighty  and  fruitful 
ocean   is  before  us,  and  the  skies  over  our  heads  shed 

20  health  and  vigor.  But  what  are  lands,  and  seas,  and 
skies,  to  civilized  man,  without  society,  without  knowledge, 
without  morals,  without  religious  culture  ?  and  how  can 
these  be  enjoyed,  in  all  their  extent,  and  all  their  excel- 
lence, but  under  the  protection  of  wise  institutions  and  a 

25  free  government  ? 

Fellow-citizens,  there  is  not  one  of  us,  there  is  not  one 
of  us  here  present,  who  does  not,  at  this  moment,  and  at 
every  moment,  experience  in  his  own  condition,  and  in  the 
condition  of  those  most  near  and  dear  to  him,  the  influence 

30  and  the  benefits  of  this  liberty,  and  these  institutions.    Let 

us  then  acknowledge  the  blessing;  let  us  feel  it  deeply 

and  powerfully ;  let  us  cherish  a  strong  affection  for  it, 

and  resolve  to  maintain  and  perpetuate  it.     The  blood  of 

34 


399  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  IL 

our  fathers,  let  it  not  have  been  shed  in  vain ;  the  great 
hope  of  posterity,  let  it  not  be  blasted. 

The  striking  attitude,  too,  in  which  we  stand  to  the 
world  around  us, — a  topic  to  which,  I  fear,  I  ndvert  too 
6  often,  and  dwell  on  too  long, — cannot  be  altogether  omitted 
here.  Neither  individuals  nor  nations  can  perform  their 
part  well,  until  they  understand  and  feel  its  importance, 
and  comprehend  and  justly  appreciate  all  the  duties  be- 
longing to  it.     It  is  not  to  inflate  national  vanity,  nor  to 

10  swell  a  light  and  empty  feeling  of  self-importance  ;  but  it  ^ 
IS  that  we  may  judge  justly  of  our  situation,  and  of  our 
ojrn  duties,  that  I  earnestly  urge  this  consideration  of  our 
position,  and  our   character   among   the   nations  of  the 
earth. 

15  It  cannot  be  denied,  but  by  those  who  would  dispute 
against  the  sun,  that  with  America,  and  in  America,  a  new 
era  commences  in  human  affairs.  This  era  is  distin- 
guished by  free  representative  governments,  by  entire  reli- 
gious liberty,  by  improved  systems  of  national  intercourse, 

20  by  a  newly  awakened  and  an  unconquerable  spirit  of  free 
inquiry,  and  by  a  diffusion  of  knowledge  through  the  com- 
munity, such  as  has  been  before  altogether  unknown  and 
unheard  of.  America,  America,  our  country,  our  own 
dear  and  native  land,  is  inseparably  connected,  fast  bound 

25  up,  in  fortune  and  by  fate,  with  these  great  interests.  If 
they  fall,  we  fall  with  them;  if  they  stand,  it  will  be  be- 
cause we  have  upheld  them. 

Let  us  contemplate,  then,  this  connection  which  binds 
the  prosperity  of  others  to  our  own ;  and  let  us  manfully 

30  discharge  all  the  duties  which  it  imposes.  If  we  cherish 
the  virtues  and  the  principles  of  our  fathers,  Heaven  will 
assist  us  to  carry  on  the  work  of  human  liberty  and  human 
happiness.  Auspicious  omens  cheer  us.  Great  examples 
are  before  us.     Our  own  firmament  now  shines  brightly 

35  upon  our  path.  Washington  is  in  the  clear  upper  sky. 
Those  other  stars  have  now  joined  the  American  constella- 
tion ;  they  circle  round  their  centre,  and  the  heavens  beam 
with  new  light.  Beneath  this  illumination,  let  us  walk 
the  course  of  life,  and  at  its  close  devoutly  commend  our 

40  beloved  country,  the  common  parent  of  us  all,  to  the  Di- 
vine Benignity. 


I 


fART   U.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  399 

LESSON    CCXIX. ENGLAND    AND    THE    UNITED  STATES.—  E. 

EVERETT. 
[From  a  Speech  before  the  British  Scientific  Association.] 

There  seems  to  be  something  peculiar  in  the  relation 
between  England  and  the  United  States,  well  calculated 
to  form  aipbasis,  as  I  trust  it  does  and  ever  will,  of 
kind  feelings  between  both.  The  relation  of  colony  and 
5  mother  country,  which  formerly  subsisted  between  Eng- 
land and  the  United  States,  is,  of  course,  not  new  in  the 
world.  From  the  beginning  of  history,  Egypt,  Greece, 
and  Rome,  sent  out  their  colonies  to  relieve  a  superabun- 
dant population,  or  in  the  spirit  of  commercial  enterprise 

10  or  to  consolidate  their  distant  conquests ;  but  there  can,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  be  no  other  example  of  such  a  rela- 
tion as  exists  between  us. 

Only  consider  the  separate   companies  of  adventurers, 
some  of  them  actuated  by  the  highest  and  noblest  feelings 

15  that  can  influence  the  heart  and  govern  the  conduct 
of  men,  traversing  a  mighty  ocean  which  bears  them 
all  at  once  from  the  mature  arts  of  civilization  to  the 
wildest  nature, — from  the  mother  country  into  a  savage 
wilderness,    unknown,    till    then,    to    the    rest    of   man- 

20  kind.  Here  they  laid  the  deep  and  broad  .foundations  of 
free  states,  destined,  under  a  multitude  of  causes,  which  it 
is  impossible  for  me  here  even  to  glance  at,  in  the  maturi- 
ty of  time  to  grow  up  into  a  great  family  of  communities, 
independent,  at  least   politically,  of  the  mother  country ; 

25  but  still,  in  their  common  lanGfuaG:e  and  kindred  blood, 
forming,  with  that  mother  country,  one  commercial,  social, 
and  intellectual  community,  destined,  I  believe,  as  such,  to 
fulfil  the  highest  ends  in  the  order  of  Providence. 

Suppose,  that  a  similarity  were  traced  by  one  of  your 

30  members,  between  the  geological  formations  of  our  two 
countries.  Suppose,  that,  landing  on  the  coast  of  America, 
he  should  find  there  the  most  peculiar  strata  and  the  most 
characteristic  fossils  of  Great  Britain,  proving,  beyond 
doubt,  that,  in  the  primeval  ages,  our  two  countries  were 

35  part  and  parcel  of  the  same  continent ;  would  not  this  dis- 
covery be  hiiled  with  pleasure,  and  this  splendid  genera.- 
ization  be  welcomed,  by  every  man  of  science,  into  the 
circle  of  his  favorite  theories  ? 

Then  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  is  it  a  less  interesting  fact, 

40  that,  in  crossing  this  mighty  ocean  to  America,  you  find 
there  the  traces,  not  of  similar  strata  of  coal  and  gypsum 


100  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   11 

not  like  formations  of  sandstone  and  ^rranite  and  gray- 
wacke,  but  the  traces  of  kindred  families  of  rational  be- 
ings ?  Is  it  not  a  delightful  fact,  that  the  foot-prints  that 
you  first  meet  there,  are  not  merely  those  of  the  fossil  ani- 
6  nials,  whose  paradoxical  existence  was  terminated  in  ages 
into  which  history  strives  in  vain  to  penetra^,  even  to  the 
vestibule,  but  the  footsteps  of  men,  of  kindred  men,  of 
men  descended  from  your  blood  and  your  revered  ances- 
try, and  called,  with  you,  hand  in  hand,  to  walk  together 

10  over  the  great  stage  of  accountable  existence,  and  to  en- 
gage, with  you,  in  the  investigation  of  all  those  high  and 
grand  problems  that  are  tasking  the  minds  of  civilized  men, 
in  this  age  of  the  world  ? 

It  seems   to  me,  that,  if  it  be  the  great  object  of  all 

16  science, — as  Sir  John  Herschell  has  said, — to  expand 
and  elevate  the  mind ;  that,  among  the  topics  consi- 
dered this  day,  there  is  not  one  more  calculated  to  expand 
and  elevate  the  rational  mind,  than  such^a  connection 
between    two    great   countries.      Why,  it   is    only    since 

20  the  reign  of  James  the  Second,  and  Charles  the  First, 
which  is  but  as  yesterday,  in  the  long  line  of  British  his- 
tory, that  a  few  adventurers  rather  stole  across  the  ocean, 
than  navigated  it.  Two  hundred  years  have  passed  away; 
and  out  of  that  little  insignificant  germ  of  national  exist- 

25  ence,  millions  and  millions  have  grown  up,  and  formed  a 
great  and  mighty  nation,  in  close  connection  with  your 
own.  And,  in  whatever  light  we  regard  each  other,  com- 
mercial, political,  literary,  social,  or  moral,  we  are  destined 
to  exercise  an  all-powerful  influence  upon  each  other, — 1 

30  believe  I  may  say,  without  exaggeration,  to  the  end  of  time. 

In  the  world  of  science,  I  would  rather  say,  there  has 

never  been  a  separation  between  us.     There  are  no  l/oun- 

dary  questions  in  that  pacific  realm.     The  first  patron  that* 

ever  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  had,  (if  it  be  not  a  shame  to 

35  pronounce  the  word  patron,  in  connection  with  such  a 
name,)  the  first  individual  who  had  the  honor  of  helping 
him  into  notice  was  an  American  citizen  ;  for  under  the 
somewhat  lofty  disguise  of  "  Count  Rumford,"  lies  con- 
cealed plain  "  Benjamin  Thompson,"  the  son  of  a  New 

40  England  farmer.  Dr.  Franklin  was  first  led  to  turn  his 
attention  to  electricity  by  experiments  exhibited  by  au 
itinerant  British  lecturer,  in  the  large  towns  of  the  then 
British  colonies ;  and  he  pursued  his  inquiries  in  this 
branch  of  science  with  a  few  articles  of  apparatus  sent  out 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  401 

to  him  by  a  friend  in  London.  The  result  was  his  brilliant 
discovery  of  the  identity  of  lightning  with  the  electric  fluid. 
In  modern  limes,  the  merit  of  our  modest  and  self-taught 
mathematician,  Bowditch,  the  American  translator  and 
5  commentator  of  La  Place,  had  nowhere  been  better  known 
and  appreciated  than  here ;  and,  in  reference  to  science, 
in  general,  I  wish  it  to  be  constantly  borne  in  rnind  by 
every  votary  of  its  pursuit  in  this  country,  that  fourteen 
days  are  enough  to  elapse  after  the  publication  to  the  sci- 

10  entific  world  here,  of  his  speculations  or  discoveries,  before 
they  are  liberally  received,  considered  and  appreciated,  ac- 
cording to  their  merit,  by  the  only  other  people  on  the  face 
of  the  globe,  speaking  the  same  language,  and  belonging 
to  the  same  school  of  civilization. 

15  It  is  unnecessary  to  speak  before  this  company, — to 
which  the  name  of  Fulton  is  as  familiar  as  those  of  Bolton 
or  Watt, — of  the  part  alternately  performed  by  the  sci- 
ence of  England  and  America,  in  bringing  about  the  use 
of  steam  as  a  locomotive  power,  by  land  and  by  water, — 

20  the  great  philosophical  and  mechanical  improvement  of  the 
day. 

In. literature,  (though  I  know  it  is  not  proper  before  this 
company  to  wander  far  beyond  the  pale  o^cience,)  yet  I 
know  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  that  it  is  our  boast 

25  and  joy,  that  Shakspeare  and  Milton  were  the  countrymen 
of  our  fathers.  We  worship  at  the  same  altars  ;  we  rev- 
erence the  same  canonized  names  as  you.  The  great 
modern  names  of  your  literary  Pantheon,  the  Addisons, 
Johnsons,  and  Goldsmiths  of  the  last  century,  the  Scotts 

30  and  Byrons  of  this,  are  not  more  familiar  to  you  than  to 
us.  And  may  I  not  say,  that  the  names  that  adorn  the 
nascent  literature  of  my  own  country, — our  Irvings,  our 
Prescotts,  our  Coopers,  our  Pierponts,  our  Bryants,  our 
Bancrofts,  and  our  Channings, — may  I  not  say,  that  they 

35  are  scarcely  better  known  to  us  than  to  you  ? 

I  know  it  is  thought  that  a  great  difference  exists  be*- 
tween  our  political  institutions, — and  certainly  it  is  in 
some  respects  considerable, — and  those  institutions,  of 
course,  have  a  great  influence  on  the  character  of  a  nation. 

10  But  all  republicans  as  we  are,  (and  1  have  seen  something 
of  the  continent  of  Europe  as  well  as  Great  Britain.)  all 
republican  as  we  are,  taking  our  systems  through  and 
through,  I  think  the  candid  observer  will  admit  that  there 
is  a  much  greater  similarity  between  you  and  us,  evea 
34^ 


402  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   11. 

politically  speaking,  than  between  Eni^land  and  any  of  her 
sister  monarchies.  I  believe  we  may  boast,  that  we  are 
children  of  the  British  school  of  freedom.  Though  we  are 
ardently,  passionately  attached  to  liberty,  it  is  liberty  en- 
6  shrined  in  constitutions,  and  organized  by  laws.  On  your 
part,  if  I  am  not  too  presumptuous,  as  a  stranger,  in  form- 
ing an  opinion,  I  think  I  may  say  that  it  is  your  boast,  that 
the  pillars  of  the  state  are  laid  deep  in  those  representative 
institutions,  by  which  the  power,  the  will,  and  the  afiec- 

10  tions  of  the  people,  are  brought  to  the  support  of  the  throne. 
And  do  we  not, — English  or  American,— -do  we  not  derive 
our  only  hope  of  a  name  and  praise  in  the  world,  politi- 
cally speaking,  from  our  attachment  to  those  old  British 
muniments  of  liberty,  trial  by  jury,  the  habeas  corpits^  free- 

15  dom  of  speech,  and  liberty  of  the  press  ? — do  we  not  derive 
it  from  that  ardent  love  of  self-government,  tempered  by  a 
proud  submission  to  lawful  sway  which  flowed  in  the  veins 
of  Englishmen  for  centuries  before  America  began  to  be? 
and  will,  I  trust,  flow  in  the   veins  of  Englishmen,  and 

20  their  descendants  in  America,  to  the  end  of  time. 


LESSOI^CCXX. MASSACHUSETTS    AND   NEW    YORK. 

GOV.  SEWARD. 

[From  an  address  at  the  meeting  of  the  Legislatures  of  the  two 
Stales,  to  celebrate  the  completion  of  the  Western  Railroad.] 

We  cannot  forget,  that  it  was  Massachusetts  that  en- 
countered first,  and  suffered  most,  from  the  tyranny  which 
resulted  in  our  national  independence ;  that  the  first  blood 
shed  in  that  sacred  cause,  flowed  at  Lexington ;  and  that 
5  Liberty's  earliest  rampart  was  established  upon  Bunker's 
Hill.  Nevertheless,  the  struggles  and  sacrifices  of  Massa- 
chusetts, have,  until  now,  been  known  to  us  through  tra- 
ditions not  her  own ;  and  seem  to  be  those  of  a  distant, 
though  an  allied  people, — of  a  country  separated  from  us 

10  by  mountain  barriers,  such  as  divide  every  continent  into 
states  and  empires. 

But  what  a  change  is  here  !  This  morning's  sun  was 
just  g-recting  the  site  of  old  Fort  Orange,  as  we  took  our 
leave ;  and  now,  when  he  has  scarcely  reached  the  meri- 

15  dian,  we  have  crossed  that  hitherto  impassable  barrier, 
and  met  you  here,  on  the  shore  of  the  Connecticut,  the 
battle  ground  of  King  Philip's  cruel  wars ;  and,  before  that 
sun  shall  set,  we  might  ascend  the  heights  of  Cbarlestown 


PART   II]  reader    AND    SPEAKER.  403 

or  rest  upon  tlie  rock  that  was  wet  with  blood  flowing  from 
the  weary  feet  of  the  pilgrim  fathers. 

New  York  has  been  addressed  here  in  language  of  mag- 
nanimity. It  would  not  become  me  to  speak  of  her  position, 
5  her  resources,  or  her  influence.  And  yet  I  may,  without 
offending  against  the  delicacy  of  her  representatives  here, 
and  of  her  people  at  home,  claim  that  she  is  not  altogether 
unworthy  of  admiration.  Our  mountains,  cataracts,  and 
lakes,  cannot  be  surveyed  without  liftmg  the  soul  on  high. 

10  Our  metropolis  and  our  inland  cities,  our  canals  and  rail- 
roads, our  colleges  and  schools,  and  our  twelve  thousand 
libraries,  evince  emulation  and  a  desire  to  promote  the 
welfare  of  our  country,  the  progress  of  civilization,  and 
the  happiness  of  mankind. 

15  While  we  acknowledge  that  it  was  your  Warren  who 
offered  up  his  life  at  Charlestown,  your  Adams  and  your 
Hancock,  who  were  the  proscribed  leaders  in  the  revolu- 
tion, and  your  Franklin,  whose  wisdom  swayed  its  coun- 
sels ;  we  cannot  forget  that  Ticonderoga  and  Saratoga  are 

20  within  our  borders  ;  that  it  was  a  son  of  New  York  who 
first  fell  in  scaling  the  heights  of  Abraham ;  that  another 
of  her  sons  shaped  every  pillar  of  the  constitution,  and 
twined  the  evergreen  around  its  capital ;  .that  our  Fulton 
sent  foith  the    mighty  agent  that  is  revolutionizing  the 

25  world;  and  that,  but  for  our  Clinton,  his  lofty  genius  and 
undaunted  perseverance,  the  events  of  this  day,  and  all  its 
joyous  anticipations,  had  slept  together  in  the  womb  of 
futurity. 

The  grandeur  of  this  occasion  oppresses  me.     It  is  not, 

30  as  some  have  supposed,  the  first  time  that  states  have  met. 
On  many  occasions,  in  all  ages,  states,  nations,  and  em- 
pires, have  come -together  ;  but  the  trumpet  heralded  their 
approach ;  they  met  in  the  shock  of  war ;  one  or  the 
other  sunk  to  rise  no  more ;  and  desolation  marked,  for 

3«)  the  warning  of  mankind,  the  scene  of  the  fearful  encoun- 
ter. And  if  sometimes  chivalry  asked  an  armistice,  it 
was  but  to  light  up  with  evanescent  smiles  the  stern  visage 
of  war. 

How  different  is  this  scene !     Here  are  no  contending 

40  hosts,  no  destructive  engines,  nor  the  terrors,  nor  even  the 
pomp  of  war.  Not  a  helmet,  sword,  or  plume,  is  seen  in 
all  this  vast  assemblage.  Nor  is  this  a  hollow  truce 
between  contending  states.  We  are  not  met  upon  a  cloth 
of  gold,  and  under  a  silken  canopy,  to  practise  deceitful 


4*   i  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   IL 

courtesies,  nor  in  an  amphitheatre,  with  jousts  and  tourna- 
ments, to  make  Uial  of  our  skill  in  arms,  preparatory  to  a 
fatal  conflict  We  have  come  here,  enlightened  and  fra- 
ternal states,  without  pageantry,  or  even  insignia  of 
[>  power,  to  renew  pledges  of  fidelity,  and  to  cultivate  affec- 
tion and  all  the  arts  of  peace.  Well  may  our  sister  states 
look  upon  the  scene  with  favor,  and  the  nations  of  the 
earth  draw  from  it  good  auguries  of  universal  and  perpet- 
ual peace. 

LESSON  CCXXI. THE    BIBLE. GRIMk£. 

The  Bible  is  the  only  book,  which  God  has  ever  ient, 
the  only  one  he  ever  will  send,  into  this  world.  All  other 
books  are  frail  and  transient  as  time,  since  they  are  only 
the  registers  of  time;  but  the  Bible  is  durable  as  eternity, 
5  for  its  pages  contain  the  records  of  eternity.  All  other 
books  are  weak  and  imperfect,  like  their  author,  man ;  but 
the  Bible  is  a  transcript  of  infinite  power  and  perfection. 
Every  other  volume  is  limited  in  its  usefulness  and  influ- 
ence ;  but  the  Bible  came  forth  conquering  and  to  con- 

10  quer :  rejoicing  as  a  giant  to  run  his  course,  and  like  the 
sun,  "there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat  thereof."  The 
Bible  only,  of  all  the  myriads  of  books  the  world  has  seen, 
is  equally  important  and  interesting  to  all  mankind.  Its 
tidings,  whether  of  peace  or  of  woe,  are  the  same  to  the 

15  poor,  the  ignorant,  and  the  weak,  as  to  the  rich,  the  wise, 
and  the  powerful. 

Among  the  most  remarkable  of  its  attributes,  is  justice  ; 
for  it  looks  with  impartial  eyes  on  kings  and  on  slaves,  on 
the  hero  and  the  soldier,  on  philosophers  and  peasants,  on 

20  the  eloquent  and  the  dumb.  From  all,  it  exacts  the  same 
obedience  to  its  commandments,  and  promises  to  the  good, 
the  fruits  of  his  labors ;  to  the  evil,  the  reward  of  his 
hands.  Nor  are  the  purity  and  holiness,  the  wisdom, 
benevolence  and  truth  of  the  Scriptures,  less  conspicuous; 

25  than  their  justice.  In  sublimity  and  beauty,  in  the  de- 
scriptive and  pathetic,  in  dignity  and  simplicity  of  narra- 
tive, in  power  and  comprehensiveness,  depth  and  variety 
of  thought,  in  purity  and  elevation  of  sentiment,  the  most 
enthusiastic  admirers  of  the  heathen   classics  have  con- 

30  ceded  their  inferiority  to  the  Scriptures. 

The  Bible,  indeed,  is  the  only  universal  classic,  the 
classic  of  all  mankind,  of  every  age  and  country,  of  time 


PART    n.j  READER   AND 

and  eternity,  riore  humble  an!I^S[»k  than  tl^s^pid^K^f 
a  child,  more  grand  and  ma£:^nin?^iuk^rjA£«Uma  the 
oration,  the  ode  and  the  drama,  \vne^^^Tus\viih  his 
chariot  of  fire,  and  his  horses  of  fire,  ascends  in  whirlwind 
5  into  the  heaven  of  his  own  invention.  It  is  the  best  cias* 
sic  the  world  has  ever  seen,  the  noblest  that  has  ever 
honored  and  dignified  the  language  of  mortals ! 

If  you  boast  that  the  Aristotles,  and  the  Platos,  and  thf 
Tullies,  of  the  classic  age,  *' dipped  their  pens  in  intellect,' 

10  the  sacred  authors  dipped  theirs  in  injpiration.  If  those 
were  the  "secretaries  of  nature,"  these  were  the  secre- 
taries of  the  very  Author  of  nature.  If  Greece  and  Rome 
have  gathered  into  their  cabinet  of  curiosities,  the  pearls 
of  heathen  poetry  and  eloquence,  the  diamonds  of  Pagan 

15  history  and  Philosophy,  God  himself  has  treasured  up  in 
the  Scriptures,  the  poetry  and  eloquence,  the  philosophy 
and  history  of  sacred  law^givers,  of  prophets  and  apostles, 
of  saints,  evangelists,  and  martyrs.  In  vain  may  you  seek 
for  the  pure  and  simple  light  of  universal  truth  in  the 

20  Augustan  ages  of  antiquity.  In  the  Bible  only  is  the 
poet's  wish  fulfil lell, — 

"  And  like  the  sun  be  all  one  boundless  eye." 


LESSON    CCXXII. FATE    OF    MONTEZUMA. WIM.  H.   PRESCOTT. 

When  MontezAima  ascended  the  throne,  he  was  scarcely 
twenty-three  years  of  age.  Young,  and  ambitious  of 
extending  his  empire,  he  was  continually  engaged  in  war, 
and  is  said  to  have  been  present  himself  in  nine  pitched 
5  battles.  He  was  greatly  renowned  for  his  martial  prow- 
ess, for  he  belonged  to  the  highest  military  order"*  of  his 
nation,  and  one  into  Avhich  but  few  even  of  its  sovereigns 
had  been  admitted. 

In  later  life,  he  preferred  intrigue  to  violence,  as  more 

10  consonant  to  his  character  and  priestly  education.  In  this 
he  was  as  great  an  adept  as  any  prince  of  his  time,  and 
by  arts  not  very  honorable  to  himself,  succeeded  in  filching 
away  much  of  the  territory  of  his  royal  kinsman  of 
Tezcuco.   Severe  in  the  administration  of  'ustice,  he  made 

15  important  reforms  in  the  arrangement  tf  the  tribunals. 
He  introduced  other  innovations  in  the  royal  household, 

*   Quachienn. 


406  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  U 

creating  new  ofllces^  introducing  a  lavish  magnificence, 
and  forms  of  oourtly  etiquette,  unknown  to  his  ruder  pred- 
ecessors. *  H^  was,  in  short,  most  attentive  to  all  that 
concerned  the  exterior  and  pomp  of  royalty.  Stately  and 
6  decorous,  he  was  careful  of  his  own  dignity,  and  might  be 
said  to  be  as  great  an  "actor  of  majesty"  among  the  bar- 
barian potentates  of  the  New  World,  as  Louis  the  Four* 
teenth  was  among  the  polished  princes  of  Europe. 

He  was  deeply  tinctured,  moreover,  with  that  spirit  of 

10  bigotry,  which  threw  such  a  shade  over  the  latter  days  of 
the  French  monarch.  He  receivetl  the  Spaniards  as  the 
beings  predicted  by  his  oracles.  The  anxious  dread,  with 
which  he  had  evaded  their  proffered  visit,  was  founded  on 
the  same  feelings  which  led  him  so  blindly  to  resign  him- 

15  self  to  them  on  th-eir  approach.  He  felt  himself  rebuked 
by  their  superior  genius.  He,  at  once,  conceded  all  that 
they  demanded, — his  treasures,  his  power,  even  his  per- 
son. For  their  sake,  he  forsook  his  wonted  occupations, 
his  pleasures,  his  most  familiar  habits.     He  might  be  said 

20  to  forego  his  nature  ;  and,  as  his  subjects  asserted,  to 
change  his  sex  and  become  a  woman.  If  we  cannot 
refuse  our  contempt  for  the  pusillanimity  of  the  Aztec 
monarch,  it  should  be  mitigated  by  the  consideration,  that 
hi.s  pusillanimity  sprung  from  his  superstition,  and   that 

25  superstition  in  the  savage  is  the  substitute  for  religious 
principle  in  the  civilized  pian. 

It  is  not  easy  to  contemplate  the  fate  of  Montezuma 
without  feelings  of  the  strongest  compassion  ; — to  see  him 
thus  borne  along  the  tide  of  events  beyond  his  power  to 

30  avert  or  control ;  to  see  him,  like  some  stately  tree,  the 
pride  of  his  own  Indian  forests,  towering  aloft  in  the  pomp 
and  majesty  of  its  branches,  by  its  very  eminence,  a  mark 
for  the  thunderbolt,  the  first  victim  of  the  tempest  which 
was  to  sweep  over  ils  native  hills !     When  the  wise  king 

35  of  Tezcuco  addressed  his  royal  relative  at  his  coronation, 
he  exclaimed,  "Happy  the  empire,  which  is  now  in  the 
meridian  of  its  prosperity,  for  the  sceptre  is  given  to  one 
whom  the  Almighty  has  in  his  keeping;  and  the  nations 
shall  hold  him  in  reverence!" 

10  Alas !  the  subject  of  this  auspicious  invocation  lived  to 
see  his  empire  melt  away  like  the  winter's  wreath  ;  to  see 
a  strange  race  drop,  as  it  were,  from  the  clouds  on  his 
land ;  to  find  himself  a  prisoner  in  the  palace  of  hii 
fathers,  the  comoanion  of  those  who  were  the  enemies  of 


I 


PART    II.]  READER    AND    SPEAKER.  407 

his  gods  and  his  people ;  to  be  insuhed,  reviled,  trodden 
in  the  dust,  by  the  meanest  of  his  subjects,  by  those  who, 
a  few  months  previous,  had  trembled  at  his  glance ;  draw- 
ing his  last  breath  in  the  halls  of  the  stranger  ; — a  lonely 
6  outcast  in  the  heart  of  his  own  capital !  He  was  the  sad 
victim  of  destiny, — a  destiny,  as  dark  and  irresistible  in  its 
march,  as  that  which  broods  over  the  mythic  legends  of 
antiquity !  

LESSON  CCXXIII. SCENERY  ABOUT  HASSEN  CLEAVER  HILLS. 

JOHN  A.  CLARK. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  days  of  summer.  The 
sun  is  proudly  marching  through  the  heavens,  in  full-orbed 
splendor.  The  tide  of  brightness,  and  the  flood  of  fervid, 
glowing  beams  which  he  pours  over  the  eafth,  makes  an 
5  impression  upon  all  animated  nature,  which  one  scarcely 
knows  how  to  describe,  though  he  feels  it  in  every  limb 
and  muscle,  and  sees  it  in  every  form  of  organized  being, 
from  the  smallest  spire  of  grass,  to  the  tallest  tree  of  the 
forest, — from  the  buzzing  insect  that  sings  at  his  ear,  to 

10  the  vast  herd  that  seek  the  shady  shelter  of  the  grove,  oi 
stand  panting  midway  in  the  brook.  I,  too,  feel  this  power, 
in  the  genial  glow  imparted  to  my  system.  The  cool 
shelter  of  this  beautiful  tree  under  which  I  sit,  and  the 
sweet  and  varied  landscape  before  me,  make  me  almost 

15  feel  that  I  am  encompassed  with  the  Elysian  fields. 

The  village  is  a  mile  distant,  and  some  two  hundred 
feet  below  this  spot.  The  elevated  knoll  on  which  I  sit, 
slopes  down  by  a  gentle  declivity  to  the  road,  Avhere  the 
traveller  passes  on  to  the  village.     Beyond,  on  the  opposite 

20  side  of  the  road,  the  land  again  swells  into  a  broad  hill, 
which  the  hand  of  cultivation  has  so  neatly  dressed,  that 
not  a  stump  or  stone  is  visible.  One  extended  carpet  of 
green  meets  the  eye,  presenting  a  surface  smooth  and 
beautiful,  as  the  newly  shorn  lawn. 

25  Beyond  this  hill,  the  earth  again  slopes  ofT,  and  falls 
into  a  valley,  through  which  runs  a  little  stream,  minister- 
ing fertility  to  the  soil,  and  refreshment  to  the  cattle  that 
graze  the  fields  on  either  side  of  it.  Still  more  remote, 
the  land,  by  beautiful  undulations,  again  rises,  and  is  again 

30  depressed,  till  at  length  it  sweeps  off,  by  a  more  precipi- 
tous descent,  to  the  bed  of  the  West  Canada  creek,  which, 
some  fifteen  miles  above,  i3  poured  in  wild  beauty  over 
Trenton  Falls. 


408  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   n. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  creek,  the  land  again  rises 
with  precipitous  elevation,  lifting  itself  upward  in  bold  and 
still  bolder  forms,  till,  in  the  distance,  it  meets  the  eye  in 
the  broad  outline  of  the  Hassen  Cleaver  Hills,  that,  like 
6  some  grand  mountain  ridge,  tower  upward  till  they  seem  to 
prop  the  very  heavens.  This  range  sweeps  along  to  the 
south  and  east,  till  it  seems  in  the  distance  blended  with 
another  range,  still  more  remote,  that  rises  beyond  the 
Mohawk,  which  together  form  a  semicircle  in  a  broad  and 

10  bold  amphitheatre  of  hills.  Over  this  range  of  hills,  up  to 
their  highest  peaks,  as  well  as  through  the  whole  extent 
of  the  intervening  country,  are  seen  cultivated  fields,  inter- 
spersed with  woodlands, — and  sprinkled  all  along,  as  far 
as  the  eye  can  extend  to  the  north  and  the  south,  corn* 

15  fields,  and  orchards,  and  barns,  and  farm-houses,  and 
herds  of  cattle. 

The  sun  is  pouring  his  golden  splendor  over  this  rich 
landscape.  Now  and  then  a  passing  cloud  quenches  the 
bright  lustre  of  his  beams  ;  and  light  and  shade  alternately 

20  rest  upon  the  smooth,  green  surface  of  the  hills.  Just  in 
my  rear,  far  to  the  left,  starts  up,  like  another  Tower  of 
Babel,  a  smooth,  verdant  knoll,  that,  by  its  vast  elevation 
and  singular  formation,  seems  to  constitute  in  the  pathway 
of  heaven,  to  the  eye  that  traces  its  outline,  the  quadrant  ol 

25  an  ellipse,  at  one  of  whose  bases  stands  a  beautiful  cluster  of 
young  butternuts,  gracefully  grouped  together,  and  extend- 
ing at  least  over  an  acre  of  ground, — at  which  point  it  is 
said,  that,  in  a  remarkably  clear  sky,  the  waters  of  the 
broad  and  distant  Ontario  may  be  seen. 

30  Over  this  landscape  universal  quiet  reigns.  No  sounds 
come  upon  the  ear,  save  now  and  then  the  cheerful  chirp 
of  a  bird, — the  hum  of  the  passing  bee, — the  lowing  of  a 
cow,  or  the  sighing  of  the  summer  breeze,  that  gently 
creeps  through  the  rich  foliage  which  spreads  its  grateful 

i5  covering  over  my  head. 

God  created  these  forms  of  beauty  around  me,  and  gave 
to  this  scene  all  its  loveliness !  If  what  His  hand  has 
formed  be  so  lovely,  how  lovely  must  He  be,  from  whom 
has  emanated  all  these   traces   of  varied   and  exquisite 

10  beauty !  I  have  a  book  which  courts  my  attention  ;  it  is 
from  the  ])Qn  of  John  Bunyan,  entitled,  *^Ca?ne  aiid  Welcome 
to  Jesus  Christ.''  In  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ,  where  is  dis- 
played "the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God,"  I  see  stronger 
lines  of  beauty,  than  in  all  this    witching   scenery    that 

45  stretches  around  me.         


PART   U.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  409 

LESSON   CCXXIV. THE   TREASURE  THAT  WAXETH  NOT  OLD.— 

D.  HUNTINGTON. 

Oh  !  I  have  loved,  in  youth*s  fair  vernal  morn, 

To  spread  imagination's  wildest  wing, 
The  sober  certainties  of  life  to  scorn, 

And  seek  the  visioned  realms  that  poets  sing, — 
5       AVhere  Nature  blushes  in  perennial  spring, 

Where  streams  of  earthly  joy  exhaustless  rise, 
Where  Youth  and  Beauty  tread  the  choral  ring, 
And  shout  their  raptures  to  the  cloudless  skies, 
While  every  jovial  hour  on  downy  pinion  flies. 

10       But,  ah !  those  fairy  scenes  at  once  are  fled. 

Since  stern  experience  waved  her  iron  wand, 
Broke  the  soft  slumbers  of  my  visioned  head. 
And  bade  me  here  of  perfect  bliss  despond. 
And  oft  have  I  the  painful  lesson  conned; 
15  When  Disappointment  mocked  my  wooing  heart, 

Still  of  its  own  delusion  weakly  fond, 

And  from  forbidden  pleasures  loth  to  part, 
Though  shrinking  oft  beneath  Correction's  deepest  smart. 

And  is  there  naught  in  mortal  life,  I  cried, 
20  Can  sooth  the  sorrows  of  the  laboring  breast  ? 

No  kind  recess  where  baflled  hope  may  hide. 

And  weary  Nature  lull  her  woes  to  rest  ? 
Oh  !  grant  me,  pitying  Heaven,  this  last  request, — 
Since  I  must  every  loftier  wish  resign, 
25       Be  my  few  days  with  peace  and  friendship  blessed ; 
Nor  will  I  at  my  humble  lot  repine, 
Though  neither  wealth,  nor  fame,  nor  luxury  be  mine. 

Oh !  give  me  yet,  in  some  recluse  abode. 
Encircled  with  a  faithful  few,  to  dwell, 
30       Where  power  can  not  oppress,  nor  care  corrode. 
Nor  venomed  tongue&  ihe  tale  of  slander  tell ; 
Oh  !  bear  me  to  some  solitary  cell. 

Beyond  the  reach  of  every  human  eye  ; 
And  let  me  bid  a  long  and  last  farewell 
35  To  each  alluring  object  'neath  the  sky. 

And  there  in  peace  await  my  hour, — in  peace  to  die. 

"  Ah  vain  desire  ! "  a  still  small  voice  replied, — 

"  No  place,  no  circumstance  can  Peace  impart: 
She  scorns  the  mansion  of  unvanquished  Pride, — 
40  Sweet  inmate  of  a  pure  and  humble  heart. 

35 


410  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   U 

Take  then  thy  station, — act  thy  proper  part ; — 
A  Saviour's  mercy  seek, — his  will  perform : 

His  word  has  balm  for  sin's  envenomed  smart, 

His  love,  diffused,  thy  shuddering  breast  shall  warm 
5  His  power  provide  a  shelter  from  the  gathering  storm." 

Oh  !  welcome  hiding  place  !     Oh  !  refuge  meet 

For  fainting  pilgrims,  on  this  desert  way ! 
Oh  !  kind  Conductor  of  these  wandering  feet 

Through  snares  and  darkness,  to  the  realms  of  day ! 
10       So  did  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  display 

His  healing  beams  ;  each  gloomy  cloud  dispel : 
While  on  the  parting  mist,  in  colors  gay. 

Truth's  cheering  bow  of  precious  promise  fell, 
And  Mercy's  silver  voice  soft  whispered, — *'  All  is  well." 


LESSON   CCXXV. THE    YOUNG    MARINER'S    DREAM. DimOTld 

In  slumbers  of  midnight  the  sailor  boy  lay, 

His  hammock  swung  loose  at  the  sport  of  the  wind ; 

But,  watch  worn  and  weary,  his  cares  flew  away, 
And  visions  of  happiness  danced  o'er  his  mind. 

5  He  dreamed  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native  bowers, 
And  pleasures  that  waited  on  life's  merry  morn ; 
While  memory  each  scene  gnyly  covered  with  flowers, 
And  restored  every  rose,  but  secreted  its  thorn. 

Then  fancy  her  magical  pinions  spread  wide, 
10       And  bade  the  young  dreamer  in  ecstasy  rise  ; — 
Now  far,  far  behind  him,  the  green  waters  glide, 
And  the  cot  of  his  forefathers  blesses  his  eyes. 

The  jassamine  clambers,  in  flower,  o'er  the  thatch ; 
And  the  swallow  sings  sweet  from  her  nest  in  the  wall 
15  All  trembling  with  transport,  he  raises  the  latch ; 
And  the  voices  of  loved  ones  reply  to  his  call. 

A  father  bends  o'er  him  with  looks  of  delight ; 

His  cheek  is  impearled  with  a  mother's  warm  tear ; 
And  the  lips  of  the  boy  in  a  love-kiss  unite, 
20       With  those  of  the  sister  his  bosom  holds  dear. 

The  heart  of  the  sleeper  beats  high  in  his  breast, 
Joy  quickens  his  pulses, — his  hardships  seem  o'er; 

And  a  murmur  of  happiness  steals  through  his  rest, — 
"O  God !  thou  hast  blest  me ;  I  ask  for  no  more." 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  411 

Ah !  whence  is  that  flame  which  now  bursts  on  his  eye  ? 

Ah  !  what  is  that  sound  which  now  iarums  his  ear  ? 
'T  is  the  lightning's  red  glare,  painting  wrath  on  the  sky  ! 

'T  is  the  crashing  of  thunders,  the  groan  of  the  sphere ! 

6  He  springs  from  his  hammock, — he  flies  to  the  deck, — 
Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire, — 
Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel  a  wreck, — 
The  masts  fly  in  splinters, — the  shrouds  are  on  fire  ! 

Like  mountains  the  billows  tremendously  swell : 
10       In  vain  the  lost  wretch  calls  on  mercy  to  save ; 
Unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell. 

And  the  death  angel  flaps  his  broad  wing  o'er  the  wave. 

O  sailor  boy !  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight ! 

In  darkness  dissolves  the  gay  frost-work  of  bliss ; 
15  Where  now  is  the  picture  that  fancy  touched  bright, 
Thy  parents'  fond  pressure,  and  love's  honied  kiss  ? 

0  sailor  boy !  sailor  boy  !  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred,  thy  wishes  repay ; 
Unblessed,  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  the  main, 
20       Full  many  a  score  fathom,  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  to  remembrance  for  thee. 
Or  redeem  form  or  fame  from  the  merciless  surge ; 

But  the  white  foam  of  waves  shall  thy  winding-sheet  be, 
And  winds,  in  the  midnight  of  winter,  thy  dirge  ! 

*25  On  a  bed  of  green  sea-flower  thy  limbs  shall  be  laid ; 
Around  thy  white  bones  the  re^'  coral  shall  grow; 
Of  thy  fair,  yellow  locks,  threads  of  amber  be  made, 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below. 

Days,  months,  years,  and  ages,  shall  circle  away, 
30       And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall  roll : 
Earth  loses  thy  pattern  for  ever  and  aye  ; — 
O  sailor  boy !  sailor  boy  !  peace  to  thy  soul ! 

LESSON    CCXXVI.— GUSTAVUS    VASA    AND   CRISTIERN. Brooke^ 

Crist.  Tell  me,  Gustavus,  tell  me  why  is  this, 
That,  as  a  stream  diverted  from  the  banks 
Of  smooth  obedience,  thou  hast  drawn  these  men 
Upon  a  dry  unchanneled  enterprise 
5         To  turn  their  inundation  ?     Are  the  lives 
Of  my  misguided  people  held  so  light, 
That  thus  thou  'dst  push  them  on  the  keen  rebuke 


10 


412  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCnOOL  [PAKT  U, 

Of  guarded  majesty ;  where  justice  waits 

All  awful  and  resistless,  to  assert 

Th'  impervious  rights,  the  sanctitude  of  kings ; 

And  blast  rebellion  ? 
5       Gust.    Justice,  sanctitude, 

And  rights  !  O  patience  !   Rights !  what  rights,  thou  tyrant 

Yes,  if  perdition  be  the  rule  of  power, 

If  wrongs  give  right,  Oh  !  then,  supreme  in  mischief, 

Thou  wert  the  lord,  the  monarch  of  the  world, —  'IH: 

Too  narrow  for  thy  claim.     But  if  thou  think'st  ^B 

That  crowns  are  vilely  propertied,  like  coin, 

To  be  the  means,  the  specialty  of  lust. 

And  sensual  attribution  ;  if  thou  think'st 

That  empire  is  of  titled  birth  or  blood  ; 
15  That  nature,  in  the  proud  behalf  of  one, 

Shall  disenfranchise  all  her  lordly  race. 

And  bow  her  general  issue  to  the  yoke 

Of  private  domination  ;  then,  thou  proud  one, 

Here  know  me  for  thy  king  !     Howe'er  be  told, 
20  Not  claim  hereditary,  not  the  trust 

Of  frank  election, 

Not  e'en  the  high  anointing  hand  of  Heaven, 

Can  authorize  oppression,  give  a  law 

For  lawless  power,  wed  faith  to  violation,  ^ 

25  On  reason  build  misrule,  or  justly  bind 

Allegiance  to  injustice.     Tyranny 

Absolves  all  faith ;  and  who  invades  our  rights, 

Howe'er  his  own  commence,  can  never  be 

But  an  usurper.     But  for  thee,  for  thee 
30  There  is  no  name  !     Thou  hast  abjured  mankind. 

Dashed  safety  from  thy  bleak,  unsocial  side, 

And  waged  wild  war  with  universal  nature. 

Crist.    Licentious  traitor !  thou  canst  talk  it  largely 

Who  made  thee  umpire  of  the  rights  of  kings, 
35  And  power,  prime  attribute ;  as  on  thy  tongue 

The  poise  of  battle  lay,  and  arms  of  force 

To  throw  defiance  in  the  front  of  duty  ? 

Look  round,  unruly  boy  !  thy  battle  comes. 

Like  raw,  disjointed,  mustering  feeble  wrath, 
40  A  war  of  waters,  borne  against  a  rock 

Of  our  firm  continent,  to  fume,  and  chafe. 

And  shiver  in  the  toil. 
Gust.    Mistaken  man ! 

I  come  empowered  anc^  strengthened  in  thy  weakness  • 


i 


PART  II.]  READER   AND   SPEAkKR.  413 

For  though  the  structure  of  a  tyrant's  throne 
Rise  on  the  necks  of  half  the  suffering  world, 
Fear  trembles  in  the  cement ;  prayers,  and  tears, 
And  secret  curses,  sap  its  mouldering  base, 
6  And  steal  the  pillars  of  allegiance  from  it ; 
Then  let  a  single  arm  but  dare  the  sway, 
Headlong  it  turns,  and  drives  upon  destruction. 

Crist,    Profane,  and  alien  to  the  love  of  Heaven ! 
Art  thou  still  hardened  to  the  wrath  divine, 

10  That  hangs  o'er  thy  rebellion  ?     Know'st  thou  not 
Thou  art  at  enmity  with  grace,  cast  out, 
Made  an  anathema,  a  curse  enrolled 
Among  the  faithful,  thou  and  thy  adherents, 
Shorn  from  our  holy  church,  and  offered  up 

15  As  sacred  to  perdition  ? 
Giist.    Yes,  I  know. 
When  such  as  thou,  with  sacrilegious  hand, 
Seize  on  the  apostolic  key  of  heaven, 
It  then  becomes  a  tool  for  crafty  knaves  ^ 

20  To  shut  out  virtue,  and  unfold  those  gates 

That  Heaven  itself  had  barred  against  the  lusts 
Of  avarice  and  ambition.     Soft  and  sweet. 
As  looks  of  charity  or  voice  of  lambs 
That  bleat  upon  the  mountain,  are  the  words 

25  Of  Christian  meekness  !  mission  all  divine  ! 
The  law  of  love,  sole  mandate.     But  your  gall, 
Ye  Swedish  prelacy,  your  gall  hath  turned 
The  words  of  sweet  but  undigested  peace. 
To  wrath  and  bitterness.     Ye  hallowed  men, 

30  In  whom  vice  sanctifies,  whose  precepts  teach 
Zeal  without  truth,  religion  without  virtue ; 
Sacked  towns,  and  midnight  bowlings,  through  the  reahn 
Receive  your  sanction!     Oh!  'tis  glorious  mischief! 
When  vice  turns  holy,  puts  religion  on, 

35  Assumes  the  robe  pontifical,  the  eye 
Of  saintly  elevation,  blesseth  sin. 
And  makes  the  seal  of  sweet  offended  Heaven 
A  sign  of  blood. 

Crist.    No  more  of  this  ! 

40  Gustavus,  wouldst  thou  yet  return  to  grace. 
And  hold  thy  motions  in  the  sphere  of  duty, 
Acceptance  might  be  found. 

Gtist.    Imperial  spoiler ! 
Give  me  my  father,  give  me  back  my  kindred, 
35=^ 


4M  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PAET   h 

Give  me  tlie  fathers  of  ten  thousand  orphans, 
Give  me  the  sons  in  whom  thy  ruthless  sword 
J  fas  left  our  widows  childless.     Mine  they  were, 
Both  mine  and  every  Swede's,  whose  natriot  breast 
6  Bleeds  in  his  country's  woundings.     Oh  !  thou  canst  not 
Thou  hast  outsinned  all  reckoning!     Give  me,  then, 
My  all  that 's  left,  my  gentle  mother  there, 
And  spare  yon  little  trembler. 
Crist,    Yes,  on  terms 

10  Of  compact  and  submission. 
Gust.    Ha  !  with  thee  ! 
Compact  with  thee !  and  mean'st  thou  for  my  country, 
For  Sweden  ?     No, — so  bold  my  heart  but  firm, 
Although  it  ^vring  for  't,  though  blood  drop  for  tears, 

15  And  at  the  sight  my  straining  eyes  dart  forth, — 
They  both  shall  perish  first ! 

LESSON   CCXXVII. TAMERLANE    AND    BAJAZET. liowC. 

[Bajazet  and  other  Turkish  priso7iers  in  chains,  und^ 
guard.] 

Tam.    When  I  survey  the  ruins  of  this  field. 
The  vvild  destruction,  which  thy  fierce  ambition 
Has  dealt  among  mankind  ;  (so  many  widows 
And  helpless  orphans  has  thy  battle  made, 
5     That  half  our  Eastern  world  this  day  are  mourners ;) 
Well  may  I,  in  behalf  of  heaven  and  earth. 
Demand  from  thee  atonement  for  this  wrong. 

Baj.  Make  thy  demand  of  those  that  own  thy  power  1 
Know,  I  am  still  beyond  it ;  and  though  fortune 

10     Has  stript  me  of  the  train  and  pomp  of  greatness, 
That  outside  of  a  king ;  yet  still  my  soul. 
Fixed  high,  and  of  itself  alone  dependent, 
Is  ever  free  and  royal ;  and  even  now. 
As  at  the  head  of  battle,  does  defy  thee. 

15     I  know  what  power  the  chance  of  war  has  given, 
And  dare  thee  to  the  use  oft.     This  vile  speeching, 
This  after-game  of  words,  is  what  most  irks  me : 
Spare  that,  and  for  the  rest  't  is  equal  all, 
Be  it  as  it  may. 

20         Tam.    Well  was  it  for  the  world, 

When,  on  their  borders  neighboring  princes  met, 
Frequent  in  friendly  parle,  by  cool  debates 

'         Preventing  wasteful  war  :  such  should  our  meeting 
Have  been,  hadst  thou  but  held  in  just  regard 


# 


PART   n.]  READER    AND   SPEAKER.  415 

The  sanctity  of  leagues  so  often  sworn  to. 

Canst  thou  believe  thy  prophet,  or,  what 's  more, 

That  Power  Supreme,  which  made  thee  and  thy  prophet^ 

Will,  with  impunity  let  pass  that  breach 
5  Of  sacred  faith  given  to  the  royal  Greek  ? 

Baj.    Thou  pedant  talker  !  ha  !  art  thou  a  king 

Pof-sessed  of  sacred  power,  Heaven's  darling  attribute. 

And  dost  thou  prate  of  leagues,  and  oaths,  and  prophets  ? 

I  hate  the  Greek,  (perdition  on  his  name  !) 
10  As  I  do  thee,  and  would  have  met  you  both, 

As  death  does  human  nature,  for  destruction. 
Tarn,    Causeless  to  hate,  is  not  of  human  kind : 

The  savage  brute  that  haunts  in  woods  remote 

And  desert  wilds,  tears  not  the  fearful  traveller, 
15  If  hunger,  or  some  injury  provoke  not 

Baj.    Can  a  king  want  a  cause,  when  empire  bids 

Go  on  ?     What  is  he  born  for,  but  ambition  ? 

It  is  his  hunger, — 't  is  his  call  of  nature, 

The  noble  appetite  which  will  be  satisfied, 
20  And,  like  the  food  of  gods,  makes  him  immortal. 

Tarn,    Henceforth,  I  will  not  wonder  we  were  foes, 

Since  souls  that  differ  so  by  nature,  hate, 

And  strong  antipathy  forbid  their  union. 

Baj.    The  noble  fire,  that  warms  me,  does  indeed 
25  Transcend  thy  coldness.     I  am  pleased  we  difler, 

Nor  think  alike. 

Ta7n.    No  :  for  I  think  like  a  man. 

Thou  like  a  monster ;  fr'^m  whose  baleful  presence 

Nature  starts  back  ;  and  though  she  fixed  her  stamp 
30  On  thy  rough  mass,  and  marked  thee  for  a  man, 

Now,  conscious  of  her  error,  she  disclaims  thee. 

As  formed  for  her  destruction. 

'T  is  true,  I  am  a  king,  as  thou  hast  been  ; 

Honor  and  glory  too  have  been  my  aim  ; 
35  But  though  I  dare  face  death,  and  all  the  dangers 

Which  furious  war  wears  in  its  bloody  front. 

Yet  would  I  choose  to  fix  my  name  by  peace. 

By  justice,  and  by  mercy  ;  and  to  raise 

My  trophies  on  the  blessings  of  mankind  : 
40  Nor  would  I  buy  the  empire  of  the  world 

With  ruin  of  the  people  whom  I  sway, 

On  forfeit  of  my  honor. 

Baj.    Confusion  !  wouldst  thou  rob  me  of  my  glory  ? 

Whilst  I,  (Oh  !  blast  the  power  that  stops  my  ardor,) 


416  AMERICAN   COMMON-SCnOOL  [PABT   & 

Would,  like  a  tempest,  rush  amidst  the  nations, 
Be  greatly  terrible,  and  deal,  like  Allah, 
My  angry  thunder  on  the  frightened  world. 

Tarn.    The  world  !  'twould  be  too  little  for  thy  pride  : 
6  Thou  wouldst  scale  heaven. 

Baj.    1  would.     Away  !  my  soul 
Disdains  thy  conference. 

Tarn,    Thou  vain,  rash  thing, 
That,  with  gigantic  insolence,  hast  dared 
10  To  lift  thy  wretched  self  above  the  stars, 

And  mate  with  power  Almighty,  thou  art  fallen  ! 

Baj,  'Tis  false  !  I  am  not  fallen  from  aught  I  have  been  ! 
At  least,  my  soul  resolves  to  keep  her  state, 
And  scorns  to  make  acquaintance  with  ill  fortune. 
15       Tarn.    Almost  beneath  my  pity  art  thou  fallen  ! 
To  what  vast  heights  had  thy  tumultuous  temper 
Been  hurried,  if  success  had  crowned  thy  wishes ! 
Say,  what  had  I  to  expect,  if  thou  hadst  conquered  ? 

Baj,  Oh  !  glorious  thought !  Ye  powers  !  I  will  enjoy  it, 
20  Though  but  in  fancy :  imagination  shall 
Make  room  to  entertain  the  vast  idea. 
Oh  !  had  I  been  the  master  but  of  yesterday, 
The  world,  the  world  had  felt  me ;  and  for  thee, 
I  had  used  thee,  as  thou  art  to  me,  a  dog, 
25  The  object  of  my  scorn  and  mortal  hatred. 

I  would  have  caged  thee  for  the  scorn  of  slaves. 
I  would  have  taught  thy  neck  to  know  my  weight, 
And  mounted  from  that  footstool  to  the  saddle  : 
Till  thou  hadst  begged  to  die ;  and  e'en  that  mercy 
30  I  had  denied  thee.     Now  thou  know^st  my  mind, 
And  question  me  no  farther. 

Tarn,    Well  dost  thou  teach  me 
What  justice  should  exact  from  thee.     Mankind, 
With  one  consent,  cry  out  for  vengeance  on  thee ; 
35  Loudly  they  call  to  cut  off  this  league-breaker. 
This  wild  destroyer,  from  the  face  of  earth. 

Baj.    Do  it,  and  rid  thy  shaking  soul  at  once 
Of  its  worst  fear. 

Tarn.    Why  slept  the  thunder 
40  That  should  have  armed  the  idol  deity, 

And  given  thee  power,  ere  yester  sun  was  set, 
To  shake  the  soul  of  Tamerlane  ?     Hadst  thou  an  arm 
To  make  thee  feared,  thou  shouldst  have  proved  it  on  m^ 
Amidst  the  sweat  and  blood  of  yonder  field. 


PART   II.]  EEADER   AND   SPEAKER.  417 

When,  through  the  tumult  of  the  war  I  sought  thee, 

Fenced  in  with  nations. 
Baj,    Oh  !  blast  the  stars 

That  fated  us  to  diflerent  scenes  of  slaughter ! 
6  Oh  !  could  my  sword  have  met  thee  ! 
Tarn.    Thou  hadst  then, 

As  now,  been  in  my  power,  and  held  thy  life 

Dependent  on  my  gift.     Yes,  Bajazet, 

I  bid  thee  live.     So  much  my  soul  disdains 
10  That  thou  shouldst  think  I  can  fear  aught  but  Heaven. 

Nay,  more  ;  couldst  thou  forget  thy  brutal  fierceness, 

And  form  thyself  to  manhood,  I  would  bid  thee 

Live  and  be  still  a  king,  that  thou  mayst  learn 

What  man  should  be  to  man  : — 
15  This  royal  tent,  with  such  of  thy  domestics 

As  can  be  found,  shall  wait  upon  thy  service ; 

Nor  will  I  use  my  fortune  to  demand 

Hard  terms  of  peace ;  but  such  as  thou  mayst  offer 

Wiih  honor,  I  with  honor  may  receive. 


LESSON     CCXXVIII. ^AN     INDEPENDENT  JUDICIARY. JAMES  A. 

BAYARD. 

Mr.  Chairman,  I  am  confident  that  the  friends  of  this  meas- 
ure are  not  apprized  of  the  nature  of  its  operation,  nor 
sensible  of  the  mischievous  consequences  which  are  likely 
to  attend  it.  Sir,  the  morals  of  your  people,  the  peace 
5  of  the  country,  the  stability  of  the  government,  rest  upon 
the  maintenance  of  the  independence  of  the  judiciary.  It 
is  not  of  half  the  importance  in  England,  that  the  judges 
should  be  independent  of  the  crown,  as  it  is  with  us,  that 
they  should  be  independent  of  the  legislature.     Am  I  ask- 

10  ed.  Would  you  render  the  judges  superior  to  the  legisla- 
ture ?  I  answer.  No,  but  coordinate.  Would  you  render 
them  independent  of  the  legislature  ?  I  answer,  Yes,  in- 
dependent of  every  power  on  earth,  while  they  behave 
themselves  well.     The  essential   interest,   the  permanent 

15  welfare  of  society,  require  this  independence  ;  not,  sir,  on 
account  of  the  judge  ;  that  is  a  small  consideratif  n  ;  but  on 
account  of  those  between  whom  he  is  to  decide.  You  cal- 
culate on  the  weaknesses  of  human  nature,  and  you  suffer 
the  judge  to  be  dependent  on  no  one,  lest  he  should  be 

20  partial  to  those  on  whom  he  depends.  Justice^does  no» 
exist  where  partiality  prevails.     A  dependent  judge  can« 


419  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  H. 

not  be  impartial.    Independence  is,  therefore,  essential  to  the 
purity  of  your  judicial  tribunals. 

Let  it  be  remembeied,  that  no  power  is  so  sensibly  felt 
by  society,  as  that  of  the  judiciary.  The  life  and  property 
6  of  every  man,  are  liable  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the  judges. 
Is  it  not  our  great  interest  to  place  our  judges  upon  such 
high  ground,  that  no  fear  can  intimidate,  no  hope  seduce 
ihem  ?  The  present  measure  humbles  them  in  the  dust  ;• 
it  prostrates  them  at  the  feet  of  faction;  it  renders  them 

10  the  tools  of  every  dominant  perty.  It  is  this  effect  which 
I  deprecate ;  it  is  this  consequence  which  I  deeply  deplore. 
What  does  reason,  what  does  argument  avail,  when  party 
spirit  presides?  Subject  your  bench  to  the  influence  of 
this  spirit,  and  justice  bids  a  final  adieu  to  your  tribunals. 

15  We  are  asked,  sir,  if  the  judges  are  to  be  independent 
of  the  people.  The  question  presents  a  false  and  delusive 
view.  We  arc  all  the  people.  We  are,  and  as  long  as 
we  enjoy  our  freedom,  we  shall  be,  divided  into  par- 
ties.    The  true  question  is.  Shall  the  judiciary  be  perma- 

20  nent,  or  fluctuate  with  the  tide  of  public  opinion  ?  I  beg, 
I  implore  gentlemen  to  consider  the  magnitude  and  value 
of  the  principle  which  they  are  about  to  annihilate.  If  your 
judges  are  independent  of  political  changes,  they  may  have 
their  preferences ;  but  they  will  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of 

25  parly.  But  let  their  existence  depend  upon  the  -.support  of 
the  power  of  a  certain  set  of  men,  and  they  cannot  be  im- 
partial. Justice  will  be  trodden  under  foot.  Your  courts 
will  lose  all  public  confidence  and  respect. 

The  judges  will  be  supported  by  their  partisans,  who,  in 

30  their  turn,  will  expect  impunity  for  the  wrongs  and  vio- 
lence they  commit.  The  spirit  of  party  will  be  inflamed  to 
madness ;  and  the  moment  is  not  far  off,  when  this  fair 
country  is  to  be  desolated  by  a  civil  war. 

Do  not  say,  that  you  render  the  judges  dependent  only 

35  on  the  people.  You  make  them  dejendcnt  on  your  pres- 
ident. This  is  his  measure.  The  same  tide  of  public 
opinion  which  changes  a  president,  vill  change  the  ma- 
jorities in  the  branches  of  the  legislati  re.  The  legislature 
will  be  the  instrument  of  his  ambition  ;  and  he  will  have 

40  the  courts  as  the  instrument  of  his  vengeance.     He  uses 
the  legislature  to  remove  the  judges,  that  he  may  appoint 
creatures  of  his  own.     In  effect,  the  powers  of  the  govern 
ment  will  be  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  one  man,  who 
will  dare  to  act  with  more  boldness,  because  he  will  be 


fART   II.]  READER   AND    SPEAKER.  419 

sheltered  from  responsibility.  The  independence  of  the 
judiciary  was  the  felicity  of  our  constitution.  It  was  this 
principle  which  was  to  curb  the  fury  of  party  on  sud- 
den changes.     The  first  moments  of  power,  gained  by  a 

5  struggle,  are  the  most  vindictive  and  intemperate.  Raised 
above  the  storm,  it  was  the  judiciary  which  was  to  control 
the  fiery  zeal,  and  to  quell  the  fierce  passions  of  a  victori- 
ous faction. 

We  are  standing  on  the  brink  of  that  revolutionary  tor- 

10  rent  Avhich  deluged  in  blood  one  of  the  fairest  countries  of 
Europe. 

France  had  her  national  assembly,  more  numerous,  and 
equally  popular  with  our  own.  She  had  her  tribunals  of 
justice,  and  her  juries.     But  the  legislature,  and  her  courts. 

15  were  but  the  instrumento  of  her  destruction.  Acts  of 
proscription,  and  sentences  of  banishment  and  death,  were 
passed  in  the  cabinet  of  a  tyrant.  Prostrate  your  judges 
at  the  feet  of  party,  and  you  break  down  the  mounds 
which   defend  you   from   this   torrent,     I   have   done.     I 

20  should  have  thanked  my  God  for  greater  power  to  resist  a 
measure,  so  destructive  to  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the 
country.  My  feeble  efforts  can  avail  nothing.  But  it 
was  my  duty  to  make  them.  The  meditated  blow  is  mor- 
tal, and  from  the  moment  it  is  struck,  we  may  bid  a  final 

25  adieu  to  the  constitution. 


LESSON    CCXXIX. MEMORIALS    OF    WASHINGTON    AND    FRANK- 
LIN.  JOHN    QUINCY  ADAMS. 

[From  Mr.  Adams'  speech  on  the  reception,  by  Coni^ress,  of  the  bat- 
tle swcrd  of  Washington,  and  the  staft'of  Franklin.] 

The  sword  of  Washington!  The  staff  of  Franklin! 
Oh  !  sir,  what  associations  are  linked  in  adamant  with  these 
names  !  Washington,  whose  sword,  as  my  friend* has  said, 
was  never  drawn  but  in  the  cause  of  his  country,  and  never 
6  sheathed  when  wielded  in  his  country's  cause!  Franklin, 
the  philosopher  of  the  thunderbolt,  the  printing-press,  and 
the  plough-share  ! — What  names  are  these  in  the  scanty 
catalogue  of  the  benefactors  of  human  kind  ! 

Washington  and   Franklin  !     What    other    two    men, 
10  whose  lives  belong  to  the  eighteenth  century  of  Christen- 
dom, have  left  a  deeper  impression  of  themselves  upon  the^ 
age  in  which  they  lived,  and  upon  all  after  time? 

Washington,  the  warrior  and  the  legislator  !    In  war,  con- 
tending, by  the  wager  of  battle,  for  the  independence  of  his 
*  Geo.  W.  Summers. 


420  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART    IL 

country,  and  for  iho  freedom  of  the  human  race  ;  ever  man- 
ifesting, amidst  its  horrors,  by  precept  and  example,  his 
reverence  for  the  laws  of  peace,  and  for  the  tenderest  sym- 
pathies of  humanity  ;  in  peace,  soothing  th.e  ferocious  spirit 
6  of  discord,  among  his  own  countrymen,  into  harmony  and 
union  ;  and  giving  to  that  very  sword,  now  presented  to 
his  country,  a  charm  more  potent  than  that  attributed,  in 
ancient  times,  to  the  lyre  of  Orpheus. 

Franklin  ! — The   mechanic  of  his  own  fortune  ;  teach- 

10  ing,  in  early  youth,  under  the  shackles  of  indigence,  the 
way  to  wealth,  and,  in  the  shade  of  obscurity,  the  path  to 
greatness  ;  in  the  maturity  of  manhood,  disarming  the 
thunder  of  its  terrors,  the  lightning  of  its  fatal  blast;  and 
wresting  from  the  tyrant's  hand  the  still  more  effective 

15  sceptre  of  oppression:  while  descending  into  the  vale  of 
y^ears,  traversing  the  Atlantic  ocean,  braving,  in  the  dead 
of  winter,  the  battle  and  the  breeze,  bearing  in  his  hand  ihe 
charter  of  Independence,  which  he  had  contributed  to  form, 
and  tendering,  from  the  self-created  nation,  to  the  mighti- 

20  est  monarchs  of  Europe,  the  olive-branch  of  peace,  the  mer- 
curial w^and  of  commerce,   and  the  amulet   of  protection 
and  safety  to  the  man  of  peace,  on  the  pathless  ocean,  from 
the  inexorable  cruelty  and  merciless  rapacity  of  war. 
And,  finally,  in  the  last  stage  of  life,  with  fourscore  win 

25  ters  upon  his  head,  under  the  torture  of  an  incurable  dis 
ease,  returning  to  his  native  land,  closing  his  days  as  the 
chief  magistrate  of  his  adopted  commonwealth,  after  con- 
tributing by  his  counsels,  under  the  presidency  of  Wash- 
ington, and  recording  his  name,  under  the  sanction  of  de- 

30  vout  prayer,  invoked  by  him  to  God,  to  that  Constitution 
under  the  authority  of  which  we  are  here  assembled,  as 
the  representatives  of  the  North  American  people,  to  receive, 
in  their  name  and  for  them,  these  venerable  relics  of  the 
wise,  the  valiant,  and  the  good  founders  of  our  great  coh- 

35  federated  republic, — these  sacred  symbols  of  our  golden 
age.  May  they  be  deposited  among  the  archives  of  our 
government!  and  every  American,  who  shall  hereafter  be- 
hold them,  ejaculate  a  mingled  offering  of  praise  to  that 
Supreme  Kulcr  of  the  Universe,  by  whose  tender  mercies 

40  our  Union  has  been  hitherto  preserved,  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  and  revolutions  of  this  turbulent  world, — and 
of  prayer  for  the  continuance  of  these  blessings,  by  the  dis- 
pensations of  Providence,  to  our  beloved  country,  from  agg 
to  age,  till  time  shall  be  no  more  ! 


^ 


rART   n.]                         READER   AND   SPEAKER.  421 

LESSON    CCXXX. DIALOGUE    FROM    HENRY    IV. —  Shukspcare 

[NorthujJiberland,  Worcester^  and  Hotspur,] 

Hot.    Speak  of  Mortimer  ? 
Zounds,  I  will  speak  of  him  ;  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him  : 
Yea,  on  his  part,  I  '11  empty  all  these  veins, 
6  And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  in  the  dust, 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  in  the  air  as  this  unthankful  king. 
As  this  ingrate  and  cankered  Bolingbroke.    [  To  Worcester, 
North,    Brother,  the  king  hath  made  your  nephew  mad. 
10        Wor,    Who  struck  this  heat  up,  after  I  Avas  gone  ? 
Hot,    He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners ; 
And  when  I  urged  the  ransom  once  again 
Of  my  wife's  brother,  then  his  cheek  looked  pale ; 
And  on  my  face  he  turned  an  eye  of  death, 
15  Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

Wor,    I  cannot  blame  him  :  Was  he  not  proclaimed, 
By  Richard  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood  ? 

North,    He  was  :  I  heard  the  proclamation  : 
And  then  it  was,  when  the  unhappy  king 
20  {Whose  wrongs  in  us  God  pardon  !)  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition ; 
From  whence  he,  intercepted,  did  return 
To  be  deposed,  and  shortly  murdered. 

Wor,    And  for  whose  death,  we  in  the  world's  wide  mouth 
25  Live  scandalized,  and  foully  spoken  of. 

Hot.    But,  soft,  I  pray  you  ;  Did  king  Richard  then 
Proclaim  my  brother  Edmund  Mortimer 
Heir  to  the  crown  ? 

North.    He  did  ;  myself  did  hear  it. 
30       Hot,    Nay,  then  I  cannot  blame  his  cousin  king, 
That  wished  him  on  the  barren  mountains  starved. 
But  shall  it  be,  that  you, — that  set  the  crown 
Upon  the  head  of  this  forgetful  man  ; 
And,  for  his  sake,  wear  the  detested  blot 
d5  Of  murderous  subornation, — shall  it  be. 
That  you  a  world  of  curses  undergo ; 
Being  the  agents,  or  base  second  means, 
The  cords,  the  ladder,  or  the  hangman  rather? 
Oh!  pardon  me,  that  I  descend  so  low, 
40  To  show  the  line,  and  the  predicament. 

Wherein  you  range  under  this  subtle  king. — 
36 


422  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [pART    n. 

Shall  it,  for  shame,  be  spoken  in  these  days, 

Or  fill  up  chronicles  in  time  to  come, 

That  men  of  your  nobility  and  power. 

Did  *gage  them  both  in  an  unjust  behalf, — 
6  As  both  of  you,  God  pardon  it !  have  done, — 

To  put  down  Richard,  that  sweet  lovely  rose, 

And  plant  this  thorn,  this  canker,  Bolingbroke? 

And  shall  it,  in  more  shame,  be  further,  spoken. 

That  you  are  fooled,  discarded,  and  shook  off 
10  By  him,  for  whom  these  shames  ye  underwent  ? 

No;  yet  time  serves,  wherein  you  may  redeem 

Your  banished  honors,  and  restore  yourselves 

Into  the  good  thoughts  of  the  world  again  : 

Revenge  the  jeering  and  disdained  contempt 
15  Of  this  proud  king,  who  studies,  day  and  night, 

To  answer  all  the  debt  he  owes  to  you. 

Even  with  the  bloody  payment  of  your  deaths. 

Therefore,  I  say, 

Wor,    Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more : 
20  And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 

And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 

I  '11  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous ; 

As  full  of  peril,  and  advent'rous  spirit, 

As  to  o'er-walk  a  current,  roaring  loud, 
25  On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot.    If  he  fall  in,  good  night : — or  sink  or  swim  .— 

Send  danger  from  the  east  unto  the  west, 

So  honor  cross  it  from  the  north  to  south, 
V    And  let  them  grapple; — Oh  !  the  blood  more  stirs, 
30  To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  start  a  hare. 

North.   Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 

Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot.    By  heaven,  methinks,  it  were  an  easy  leap 

To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon ; 
35  Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep. 

Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 

And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks ; 

So  he,  that  doth  redeem  her  thence,  might  wear. 

Without  corrival,  all  her  dignities : 
40  But  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship! 

Wor.    He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here, 

But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend. — 

Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while. 
Hot.    I  cry  you  mercy. 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  423 

Wot,    Those  same  noble  Scots, 

That  are  your  prisoners, 

Hot.    V\\  keep  them  all ; 
By  heaven,  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them ; 
6  No,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not: 
I  *11  keep  them,  by  this  hand. 

Wor.    You  start  away. 
And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. — 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 
10       Hot.    Nay,  I  will;  that's  flat: — 

He  said,  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer; 
Forbad  my  ton^e  to  speak  of  Mortimer ; 
But  I  will  find  him,  when  he  lies  asleep, 
And  in  his  ear  I  '11  holla — Mortimer ! 
15  Nay, 

I  '11^ have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  to  speak 
Nothing  but  Mortimer,  and  give  it  him, 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion. 
Wor.    Hear  you, 
20  Cousin ;  a  word. 

Hot.    All  studies  here  I  solemnly  defy. 
Save  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Bolingbroke : 
And  that  same  sword-and-buckler  prince  of  Wales, — 
But  that  I  think  his  father  loves  him  not, 
25  And  would  be  glad  he  met  with  some  mischance, 
I  'd  have  him  poisoned  with  a  pot  of  ale. 

Wor.    Farewell,  kinsman  !  'I  will  talk  to  you, 
When  you  are  better  tempered  to  attend.  » 

North.    Why,  what  a  wasp-stung  and  impatient  fool  ^ 
30  Art  thou,  to  break  into  this  woman's  mood ; 
Tying  thine  ear  to  no  tongue  but  thine  own  ? 

Hot.  Why,  look  you,  I  am  whipped  and  scourged  with  roda^ 
Nettled,  and  stung  with  pismires,*  when  I  hear 
Of  this  vile  politician,  Bolingbroke. 
35  In  Richard's  time, — What  do  you  call  the  place  ? — 
A  plague  upon  't ! — it  is  in  Gloucestershire  ; — 
'Twas  where  the  mad-cap  duke  his  uncle  kept; 
His  uncle  York  ; — where  I  first  bowed  my  knee 
Unto  this  king  of  smiles,  this  Bolingbroke, 
40  When  you  and  he  came  back  from  Ravenspurg. 
North.    At  Berkley  castle. 

Hot.    You  say  true  : 

Wl'v,  what  a  candy  deal  of  courtesy 

♦  Pronounced  pizimV* 


424  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   11 

This  fawning  greyhound  then  did  profTer  me ! 
Look, — when  his  infant  fortune  came  to  age^ 
And, — gentle  Harry  Percy ^ — and  kind  cottsiiiy — 
Oh,  the  devil  lake  such  cozeners! — God  forgive  me' 
5  Good  uncle,  lell  your  tale,  for  I  have  done. 


LESSON  CCXXXI. — THE  LOVE  OF  TRUTH.— GEORGE  PUTNAM 

Truth  is  the  one  legitimate  object  of  all  intellectua. 
endeavor.  To  discover  and  apprehend  truth,  to  clear  up 
and  adorn  it,  to  establish,  and  present,  and  commend  it, — 
these  are  the  processes  and  the  ends  of  study  and  litera- 
5  ture.  To  discern  the  things  that  really  are,  and  how  they 
are,  to  distinguish  reality  from  appearance  and  sham,  to 
know  and  declare  the  true  ii-  outward  nature,  in  past 
time,  in  the  results  of  speculolion,  in  consciousness  and 
sentiment, — this  is  the  business  of  educated  mind.     Logic 

10  and  the  mathematics  are  instru  ments  for  this  purpose,  and 
so  is  the  imagination  just  as  i  trictly.  A  poem,  a  play,  a 
novel,  though  a  work  of  fictiDn,  must  be  true,  or  it  is 
a  failure.  Its  machinery  maj  be  unknown  to  the  actual 
world  ;  the  scene  may  be  laid  :  n  Elysian  fields,  or  infernal 

15  shades,  or  fairy  land ;  but  the  law  of  truth  must  preside  ^ 
over  the  work;  it  must  be  the  vehicle  of  truth,  or  it  is 
nought,  and  is  disallowed.     The  Tempest,  the  Odyssey, 
and  Paradise  Lost,  derive  their  value  from  their  truth ; 
and  I  say  this,  not  upon  utilitarian  principles,  but  accord- 

20  ing  to  the  verdict  which  every  true  soul  passes  upon  them, 
consciously  or  unconsciously.  Lofty,  holy  truth,  made 
beautiful  and  dear  and  winning  to  the  responsive  heart, — 
this  is  their  charm,  their  wealth,  their  immortality.  There 
is  no  permanent  intellectual  success  but  in  truth  attained 

25  and  brought  home  to  the  eye,  the  understanding,  or  the 
heart. 

And  for  the  best  success  in  the  pursuit  of  any  object, 
there  must  be  a  love  of  the  object  itself.  The  student,  the 
thinker,  the  author,  who  is  true  to  his  vocation,  loves  the 

30  truth  which  he  would  develop  and  embody.  Not  for 
bread,  not  for  fame,  primarily,  he  works.  These  things 
may  come,  and  are  welcome ;  but  truth  is  higher  and 
dearer  than  these.  Great  things  have  been  done  for  bread 
and  fame,  but  not  the  greatest.     Plato,  pacing  the  silen. 

35  groves  of  the  academy,  and  Newton,  sitting  half  a  day  on 


I 


PART   II.]  READER   AND   SPEAKER.  425 

his  bedside,  undressed,  and  his  fast  unbroken,  rapt  in  a 
problem  of  fluxions  ;  Dante  solacing  the  bitterness  of  exile 
with  the  meditations  that  live  in  the  Commedia,  and  Bacon 
taking  his  death  chill  in  an  experiment  to  test  the  pre- 
5  serving  qualities  of  snow;  Cuvier,  a  lordlier  Adam  than 
he  of  Eden,  naming  the  whole  animal  world  in  his 
museum,  and  reading  the  very  thoughts  of  God  after  him 
in  their  wondrous  mechanism  ;  Franklin  and  Davy  wrest- 
ing the  secrets  of  nature  from  their  inmost  hiding-place; 

10  LinnoBUs  studying  the  flora  of  the  arctic  circle  in  loco; 
and  that  fresh  old  man  who  startles  the  clefts  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  with  his  rifle,  to  catch  precisely  the  lustrous 
tints  of  beauty  in  the  plumage  of  a  bird  ; — these  men,  and 
such  as  they,  love  truth,  and  are  consecrate,  hand   and 

15  heart,  to  her  service.  The  truth,  as  she  stands  in  God's 
doings,  or  in  man's  doings,  or  in  those  thoughts  and  afl^ec- 
tiotis  that  have  neither  form  nor  speech,  but  which  answer 
from  the  deep  places  of  the  soul, — truth,  as  seen  in  her 
sublimities  or  her  lieauties,  in  her  world-poising  might  or 

20  her  seeming  trivialities, — truth,  as  she  walks  the  earth 
embodied  in  visible  facts,  or  moves  among  the  spheres  in 
the  mysterious  laws  that  combine  a  universe  and  spell  it 
to  harmony,  or  as  she  sings  in  the  upper  heavens  the  inar- 
ticulate wisdom  which  only  a  profound  religion  in  the  soul 

25  can  interpret, — truth,  in  whichsoever  of  her  myriad  mani- 
festations, she  has'  laid  hold  of  their  noble  affinities,  and 
brought  their  being  into  holy  captivity; — such  men  have 
loved  her  greatly  and  fondly ;  the  soul  of  genius  is  always 
pledged  to  her  in  a  single-hearted  and  sweet  affiance,  or 

30  else  it  is  genius  baffled,  blasted,  and  discrowned. 


LESSON  CCXXXII. — ENERGY  OF  THE  WILL. THOMAS  C.  XJPHAM. 

A  higher  degree  of  voluntary  power,  than  is  allotted  to 
the  great  mass  of  mankind,  seems  to  be  requisite  in  those, 
who  are  destined  to  take  a  leading  part  in  those  great 
moral,  religious,  and  political  revolutions,  which  have  from 
time  to  time  agitated  the  face  of  the  world.  It  is  no  easy 
task  to  change  the  opinions  of  men,  to  check  and  subdue 
vices  which  have  become  prevalent,  or  to  give  a  new  aspe^* 
and  impulse  to  religion  and  liberty.  The  men  who  take  a 
lead  in  these  movements,  are  in  general  men  of  decision 
36* 


426  AMERICAN    COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART   I| 

and  firmness ;  no  others  would  answer  the  purpose.  If 
the  gentle  spirit  of  Melancthon  had  been  placed  in  the  pre- 
cise position  occupied  by  Luther,  would  the  great  event  of 
the  Protestant  reformation  have  been  urged  forward  with 
6  the  same  impetus,  and  to  the  same  issues  ? 

When  society  becomes  greatly  unsettled  either  in  its 
religious  or  political  aspects,  when  there  is  a  heaving  and 
tossing  to  and  fro,  a  removal  of  the  old  land-marks,  and  a 
breaking  up  of  the  old  foundations,  then  it  is,  that  men, 

10  not  merely  of  intellect,  but  of  decision  and  energy,  (saga- 
cious, cool,  decided,  persevering,  resolute,)  find  their  way 
upward  to  the  summit  of  the  conflicting  elements,  and 
subject  them  to  their  guidance.  Such  is  the  natural 
course  of  things ;    such  men  are  needed,  and  no  others 

15  are  capable  of  taking  their  places  ;  and  they  become,  almost 
of  necessity,  the  advisers  and  leaders  in  the  nascent  order 
of  society.  The  prominent  leaders,  therefore,  in»  every 
great  religious  or  political  revolution,  will  be  found  to  illus- 
trate the  fact,  that  there  are  original^nd  marked  differences 

20  in  the  degree  of  power  which  is  appropriate  to  the  will. 

Look  at  the  men  who  presided  at  the  events  of  the  gre:»t 
English  Revolution  of  1640,  particularly  the  Puritans ;  men 
of  the  stamp  of  the  Vanes,  Hampdens,  and  Fleetwoods; 
who,  in  embarking  in  the  convulsions  of  that  stormy  period, 

25  had  a  two-fold  object  in  view,  the  security  of  political  lib- 
erty, and  the  attainment  of  religious  freedom  !    Were  they 
weak  men?    Were  they  men  wanting  in  fortitude?    Were 
they  uncertain  and  flexible,  vacillating  and  double-minded? 
History  gives  an  emphatic  answer  to  these  questions.    It 

30  informs  us,  that  they  entered  into  the  contest  for  the  great 
objects  just  now  referred  to,  with  a  resolution  which  noth- 
ing could  shake,  with  an  immutability  of  purpose  resem- 
bling the  decrees  of  unalterable  destiny.  They  struck  for 
liberty  and  religion,  and  they  struck  not  thrice  merely,  but 

35  as  the  prophet  of  old  would  have  had  them  ;  smiting  many 
timeSy  and  smitmg  fiercely,  till  Syria  was  consumed.  They 
broke  in  pieces  the  throne  of  England  ;  they  trampled  un- 
der foot  her  ancient  and  haughty  aristocracy  ;  they  erected 
the  standard  of  religious  liberty,  which  has  waved  ever 

40  since,  and  has  scattered  its  healing  light  over  distant 
lands ;  and,  by  their  wisdom  and  energy,  they  not  only 
overthrew  the  enemies  of  freedom  at  home,  but  made  the 
name  of  their  country  honored  and  terrible  throughout  the 
earth.    They  seem  to  have  entirely  subjected  tl>pif  p^^sions 


PART   n.]  READER   AND   BPEAKER.  4*^ 

to  their  purposes,  and  to  have  pressed  all  the  exciting  and 
inflammable  elements  of  their  nature,  into  the  service  of 
their  fixed  and  immutable  wills. 

In  the  prpsecution  of  their  memorable  achievements, 

6  "Of  which  all  Europe  talked  from  side  to  side," 

they  acted  under  the  two-fold  pressure  of  motives  drawn 
from  heaven  and  earth ;  they  felt  as  if  they  were  contend- 
ing for  principles  which  were  valuable  to  all  mankind,  and 
as  if  all  mankind  were  witnesses  of  the  contest ;  at  the 

10  same  time  that  they  beheld  on  every  side,  in  the  quickened 
eye  of  their  faith,  the  attendant  angels  eagerly  bending 
over  them,  who  were  soon  to  transfer,  to  the  imperishable 
records  on  high,  the  story  of  their  victory  and  reward,  or 
of  their  defeat  and  degradation. 

15  All  these  things  imparted  additional  fixedness  and  m- 
tensity  to  their  purposes.  "  Death  had  lost  its  terrors,  and 
pleasure,  its  charms.  They  had  their  smiles  and  their 
tears,  their  raptures  and  their  sorrows,  but  not  for  the 
things  of  this  worlcL     Enthusiasm  had  made  them  Stoics, 

20  had  cleared  their  minds  from  every  vulgar  passion  and 
prejudice,  and  raised  them  above  the  influence  of  danger 
and  corruption.  It  sometimes  might  lead  them  to  pursue 
unwise  ends,  but  never  to  choose  unwise  means.  They 
went  through  the  world,  like  Sir  Artegale's  iron  man  Talus 

25  with  his  flail,  crushing  and  trampling  down  oppressors, 
mingling  with  human  beings,  but  having  neither  part  nor 
lot  in  human  infirmities  ;  insensible  to  fatigue,  to  pleasure, 
and  to  pain ;  not  to  be  pierced  by  any  weapon,  not  to  be 
withstood  by  any  barrier." 


LESSON  CCXXXlir. — THE  SCHOLAR'S  MISSION. GEORGE  PUTNAM. 

The  wants  of  our  time  and  country,  the  constitution  of  our 
modern  society,  our  whole  position, — personal  and  relative, 
— forbid  a  life  of  mere  scholarship  or  literary  pursuits,  to  the 
great  majority  of  those  who  go  out  from  our  colleges.  How- 
6  ever  it  may  have  been  in  other  times,  and  other  lands,  here 
and  now,  but  few  of  our  educated  men  are  privileged 

"  From  the  loopholes  of  retreat 
To  look  upon  the  world,  to  hear  the  sound 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  its  stir." 

IP       Sgciety  has  work  for  us,  and  we  must  forth  to  do  it 


428  COMMON-SCHOOL   READER    AND   SPEAKER.         [PART   11 

Full  early  and  hastily  we  must  gird  on  the  manly  gown 
gather  up  the  loose  leaves  and  scanty  fragments  of  our 
youthful  lore,  and  p:o  out  among  men,  to  act  with  them  and 
for  ihem.  It  is  a  practical  age  ;  and  our  Wisdom,  such  as 
5  it  is,  "  must  strive  and  cry,  and  utter  her  voice  in  the  streets, 
standing  in  the  places  of  the  paths,  crying  in  the  chief  place 
of  concourse,  at  the  entry  of  the  city,  and  the  coming  in  at 
the  doors." 

This  state  of  things,  though  not  suited  to  the  tastes  and 

10  qualities  of  all,  is  not,  on  the  whole,  to  be  regretted  by  ed 
ucated  men  as  such.     It  is  not  in  literary  production  only, 
or  chiefly,  that  educated  mind  finds  fit  expression,  and  ful- 
fils its  mission  in  honor  and  beneficence.     In  the  great 
theatre  of  the  world's  affairs,  there  is  a  worthy  and  a  sufH- 

15  cient  sphere.      Society  needs  the  well-trained,  enlarged, 
and  cultivated  intellect  of  the  scholar,  in  its  midst ;  needs  1 
it,  and  welcomes  it,  and  gives  it  a  place,  or,  by  its  own  ca-  ■ 
pacity,  it  will  take  a  place,  of  honor,  influence,  and  power. 
The  youthful  scholar  has  no  occa^on  to  deplore  the  fate 

20  that  is  soon  to  tear  him  from  his  studies,  and  cast  him  into 
the  swelling  tide  of  life  and  action.  None  of  his  disci- 
plinary and  enriching  culture  will  be  lost,  or  useless,  even 
there.  Every  hour  of  study,  every  truth  he  has  reached, 
and  the  toilsome  process   by  which  he  reached    it;    the 

25  heightened  grace  or  vigor  of  thought  or  speech  he  has 
acquired, — all  shall  tell  fully,  nobly,  if  he  will  give  heed 
to  the  conditions.  And  one  condition,  the  prime  one,  is, 
that  he  be  a  true  man,  and  recognize  the  obligation  of  a 
man,  and  go  forth  with  heart,  and  will,  and  every  gift  and  ■ 

30  acquirement  dedicated,  lovingly  and  resolutely,  to  the  true 
and  the  right.  These  are  the  terms ;  and  apart  from  these 
there  is  no  success,  no  influence  to  be  had,  which  an  in- 
genuous mind  can  desire,  or  which  a  sound  and  far-seeing 
mind  would  dare  to  seek. 

35  Indeed,  it  is  not  an  easy  thing,  nay,  it  is  not  a  possible 
thing,  to  obtain  a  substantial  success,  and  an  abiding  influ- 
ence, except  on  these  terms.  A  factitious  popularity,  a 
transient  notoriety,  or,  in  the  case  of  shining  talents,  the 
doom*  of  a  damning  famCy  may  fall  to  bad  men.     But  an 

40  honored  name,  enduring  influence,  a  sun  brightening  on 
through  its  circuit,  more  and  more,  even  to  its  serene  set- 
ting,— this  boon  of  a  true  success  goes  never  to  intellectual 
qualities  alone.  It  gravitates  slowly  but  surely  to  weight 
of  character,  to  intellectual  ability  rooted  in  principle. 


EXPRESSIVE  TONES"  EXEMPLIFIED  IN  MUSIC. 


The  following  examples,  furnished  by  the  kindness  of  Mu.  I/Owell 
Masox,  are  designed  to  show,  to  a  limited  extent,  the  analogy  between 
elocutionary  and  musical  expression,  and  the  value  of  systematic 
marking,  to  indicate  **  expressive  tones."  Teachers  will  find  great  aid 
in  borrowing  from  music  the  means  of  improving  the  voice  for  the 
purposes  of  elocution. 

Expression,  both  in  music  and  in  elocution,  as  has  often  been  said, 
is  something,  which,  while  it  may  be  most  deeply  felt,  cannot  be  easily 
described  or  accurately  defined.  It  has  its  source  in  the  region  of 
emotion,  and  may  be  regarded  as  the  manifestation  of  the  soul  itself, 
—  the  physiology  of  "  psychologies,"  or  the  outward  form  or  repre- 
sentative of  the  inward  feelings.  As  is  the  expression  of  the  eye  to 
the  organ  of  vision,  so  is  musical  or  elocutionary  expression  to  tho 
organ  of  hearing.  It  is  the  oxygen,  or  liie-giving  principle,  in  speak- 
ing and  in  singing.  It  is  that  which  gives  life  and  reality  to  ideas 
and  sentiments  in  language,  and  appropriate  emotion,  both  in  kind 
and  in  degree,  to  mere  inarticulate  sounds. 

Its  analysis  presents  us  with  the  following  three  principal  things  : 

1.  Quality  of  tone,  as  good  or  bad,  and  as  adapted  to  express  vari- 
ous emotions  and  passions.  Sec  remarks  on  quality,  in  the  introduc- 
tory part  of  this  volume. 

2.  Force,  or  power.  (See  as  above.)  In  music  there  are  five  prin- 
cipal degrees,  (dynamic,)  from  soft  to  loud,  which  are  thus  expressed. 

Very  Soft.        I       Soft. 
PP.  or  Pia7iissimo.\P.  or  Piano. 


Medium.    I     Loud.      I      Very  Loud. 
M.  or  Mezzo.\F.  or  Forte.] FF.  or  Fortissimo. 


EXAMPLE. 

PP.       P.        M.        F,  FF.FF.        F.        M.       P.        PP. 


#T#-#-#  9-0-O-  o-m-^  o 


I 


m-0'O\o 


m-m\o 


I 


3.  That  which  in  elocution  is  called  ttress,  and  in  music  dynamic 
tones. 
There  are  six  principal  dynamic  tones  in  music,  as  follows  : 


The  Organ  Tone, 
T)ie  Crescendo, 
The  Diminuendo, 


The  Swell, 

The  Pressure,    < 

The  Sforzando,  > 


The  art  or  power  of  expression,  both  in  elocution  and  io  music, 
consists  principally  in  an  ability  to  apply,  in  a  natural,  easy,  and 
appropriate  manner,  these  general  principles. 

To  the  musical  student  such  exercises  on  the  scale  as  the  following, 
are  indispensable ;  and  the  student  of  elocution  ^^•ill  also  find  them 
of  great  service,  as  aids  to  acquiring  the  full  and  easy  management 
of  his  vocal  organs. 


430 


^ 


AMERICAN   COMMON-SCHOOL  [PART  II. 

^  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^  O 


I 


.<*>_. 


Z22: 


-€:^ 


"2^" 


The  above  to  bo  practised  in  the  dynamic  tones  markcdi  and  also 
in  the  swell,  or 


ra — 1  ^  f  r 

— 1   r  r-^ 
1 — 1 — h 

*rrr 

~^-l — 1 — 1 — 

— 1 — 

The  following,  also,  (and  similar  exercises,)  mil  be  found  usefiiL 
Crescendo  and  Diminuendo  applied  to  the  Scale, 


fgj|4J^^rfrrtrff4J:#4j^ 


*  The  pressure  tone  is  the  least  important  and  seldom  used. 


SCHOOL  SONG.— EVENING  T^VILIGHT. 
Gentle  au<l  Smooth.    KfTuslve  breatliiiis^. 


I  I  J  5  r  I    1^  c:  -art.  rf- 

1.  Night  is  stealing — soft-ly  sail-ing  From  bchindthe  mountain 
,2.  From  the  mountains,forcst8, fountains, Softly  fades  the  light  of 


I 


FART  II.] 


READER   AND    SPEAKER. 


431 


pine;     Lu-na  comes  to  calm  the     hour,       Sooth -ing 
day ;      On  -  ly    round  yon  fir  -  clad  sum  -  mit,  Heavenward 


m. 


^H 


isa 


^^isiE 


^    ^ 


pow  -  er,  Soothing  pow  -  er  In  her  beams  the  weary    find, 
soaring,  Heavenward  soaring,  Lingers  yet  one  gold-en    ray. 


M 


0—0 


i 


«: 


•p^r— #-#- 


•1 — h 


^~W=^ 


^  ^  ^ 


3.  Evening  breezes,  incense  breathing, 
Murmur  through  the  linden  grove ; 
Nearer  now  the  curtain  closes,         • 
Man  reposes 
In  the  arms  of  heavenly  love. 


SONG  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

TVORDS   BY  MRS.   L.   H.   SIOOURNBT. 

Kxpiilslve  breathln§^. 


Bold  and  Energetic. 


1.  Clime,  beneath  wliose  genial  stm,  Kings  were  quelled,  and  freedom  won  , 

2.  Crown  -  less  Judah  mourns  in  gloom,  Cireece  lies  slumbering  in  the  tornb^ 


432  COMMON-SCHOOL   READER  AND  SPEAKER.        [PART  II. 


Where  the  dust  of  Washing-ton    Sleeps  in  glo  -  ry's  bed  ! 
Rome  hath  shorn  her  eagle-plume;  Lost  her  conquering  name ! 


if 


^   p>     ^     IN     KJ 


Heroes  from  thy  sylvan  shade,Chan^'d  the  plough  for  battle-blade, 
*ul  na  -  tion  of  the  west,  Kise,  with  truer  greatness  blest ; 


Youthful 


m^^m 


M 


gg 


^  -'^  i^9z 


b- 


^    ^ 


Ho  -  ly  men  for  thee  have  prayed,  Pat-riot  mar-tyrs  bled 
Sainted  bands  from  realms  of  rest,  Watch  thy  bright'ning  fame 


i 


Empire  of  the  brave  and  free, 
Stretch  thy  sway  from  sea  to  sea; 
Who  shall  bid  thee  bend  the  knee 

To  a  tyrant's  throne  ? 
Knowledge  is  thine  armor  bright; 
Liberty  thy  beacon  light ; 
God  himself  thy  shield  of  might, 

13ow  to  him  alone! 


I 


YB  02012 


t 


<^ 


^^'-Hk 


^J^i\/' 


